Landstradd's First Chapters
by Landstradd
Summary: My possible future stories, as laid out as first chapters and or prologues. First up at bat, my Time-travel!Harry, a sixth year AU story, and a Harry raised differently than canon. Rated for use of foul language and possible violence.
1. The White Mage of Time

**A/N: Hello ladies and gentlemen. This is my first installment of a project to get all of the wayward plot bunnies out of my skull. I hope you enjoy this offering. My thanks as always go to those who take the kind time to review.**

**There is a poll located at my author page, tell me which story of the three I am placing up you would like to see made into a full tale first.**

**This is my attempt at (different) time-travel!Harry.**

**I do not own Harry Potter, that honor belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

Landstradd's First Chapters

Story One: The White Mage of Time

Prologue: Changing History

He limped his way through the bunker, weaving his way through stacks of books that contained lore that stretched back to the very beginning of magic. Transfiguations that are barely recognizable from the basics taught to the average Mastery student, complex and power charms that any self respecting Charms Master would kill for, potions lost to living memory, arithmetic formulas that were able to measure just how much magical power is held in something (or someone) a feat said to be impossible by modern magic users, the complete rune language from Atlantis, and oh so much more.

'And almost all of it completely and utterly useless to what I truly need to do!' He thought out with while eying one particular stack of books with hate.

Yes, they had helped him survive this long. Yes, the use of this knowledge had resulted in names made for him that the world at large quake in fear. And, yes, the reading kept him going stir crazy when he had to hide away from all of his enemies.

But it was not enough. With Emperor Voldemort the Eternal sitting upon the throne of the world, the books he had, had none of Soul, Spirit, or Ethereal magics that he needed to bring the bastard low. He had lost track of the number of times he had faced that monster, lost tracks of the number of times that he had either won, destroyed the body while failing to destroy the diseased mass that the once-man called a soul and then left before he could be overwhelmed by the Faithful or fought draw and fled.

But Harry Potter was glad for one thing. He was undefeated. That was one of the few things that kept him going. He was better than his enemies, in far more ways than one. He only killed those who had taken the Dark Mark, the foul and disgusting derivation of the Protean charm that he knew in his gut was laced with some form of magics that bound the branded to the brander. He was far better at destroying and killing than his foes, his methods being much grander. He was always newsworthy when he did something, even if it painted him as society's enemy number one.

He entered the inner most room of the bunker, the place where his Plan B was taking shape. Since the disaster at Alexandria a decade ago, he had not found any more leads on stashes of magical knowledge. And the fact that research into any of the three fields he needed was punishable by death, there would probably be no 'new' discoveries to aid him. The fact that he was pushing the age of seventy and his body was starting to slow down on him long before it should have if he had lived a healthy childhood, pushed him even further into following this plan. He wasn't aging along the lines of someone completely non-magical, but given how powerful he was he should still be able to move around like a healthy thirty year old, rather than a fifty year old retired rugby player.

The room was circular, with an array painted in precious metals and gems on the ground that would remind the non-magicals who had lived before the Wars of what they believed of alchemy. Harry smiled at that, how he wished he had more knowledge of the world he had been forced to miss by growing up in a cupboard. He only knew from books about the non-magical world of the late twentieth century.

In the outer most circle of the array were seven pillars of crystal, each gently glowing in a prismatic blend of colors, painstakingly made layer by layer, with runes spiraling around and within them, inked in his own blood. He walked to each of them, touching them to make sure they still had the magic he had charged into them, staring deep into them to remind himself that he had already made sure of each runic layer before it had been sealed in a layer of crystal.

He walked the circle again, this time staring at the floor, the platinum-gold alloy used to 'draw' the circle, runes and symbols, flawless diamonds an inch across where-ever lines of metal denotes that the outer most circle moved energy inwards. Looking for any errors or mistakes, he walked the circle twice. Everything had to be perfect.

He moved to the second circle of the four that made up the array. Again he walked it two times, ensuring himself that there were no errors in it. Whenever he reached one of the three swords lying upon the ground, he would pick it up and examine it. Titanium alchemically alloyed with diamond and as much mythril as he could get his hands on, they were carved with runes for to strength them in all ways possible. Each was still identical to its siblings, and each was still flawless.

After all, one cannot travel against the flow of time without wounding it.

He repeated the process again at the second to last circle. In this one were placed thirteen stones of condensed Mana, of pure solidified magic. He was glad that of all the things involved in this, that he had been working on the magics needed for those the longest, even if he had never known he would need to do this.

Finally the last circle, the one in which he would sit. The array at this point would hold nothing other than himself... Though his body would not travel through time with him. For the size of the backstep that he needed, it would only be his soul and mind traveling backwards.

He walked back to the door. Everything was ready. Under the dark of the moon two weeks from now, he would fling himself as far back into his past as he could. Hopefully he could get his hands on the knowledge he would need to end the war long before it began. Of course, if what this method of time-travel did what he thought it did, Harry Potter may very well have a chance at a happier, even if it could never be normal, life.

* * *

He sat at a desk, the night before the new moon, writing onto a sheet of parchment with many different styles of handwriting on it. A book lay near him, the cover read, "_Communing with the Multi-Verse: Chatting with the Great Minds of Infinity_". At the top of the parchment were the words, 'Of time-travel; Merlin's Path'.

HJP-TGDoD: "Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is probably the last I'll be able to speak with you. My backstep is ready and I'm going back tomorrow night."

TYN-Odin: "Congratulations, Harry. Most of us here are only academically interested in what most consider the only method of 'true' time-travel that could even be remotely considered 'light' magics. Though you may very well be able to prove that this method of communicating exists outside of time."

HLN-Wraith: "But, then there are those who consider all time-travel to be inherently dark due to its basic nature."

QIP-Archer: "*Nods sagely* You are indeed correct Hikari, there are a number of hardliners in every universe that say wounding time is completely and totally unacceptable, even if it is a proven fact that the damage only exists for the one who caused it, and only for the window in which they move through time. Though if some of the calculations I have done on the alterations you have made to the ritual are right, you will be making a contained tear in space-time that exists for anyone in your universe, rather than a 'simple' time tear. Don't worry though, those things always close about fifteen minutes after the damage is done."

HJP-TGDoD: "I did not know that, thanks for giving me a new set of worries Quinn. I'd like to thank all of you who have helped me in even the smallest way (that goes to even those who did as little as make me laugh, I know I needed it). I know that no one can even see discussions about magics and information they do not have a functional knowledge of, but everyone here had helped me get to this point."

ROP-Sky: "And I think I speak for everyone when I say you are very much welcome, and we would all like to wish you good luck. I know I may be asking what a number of others have asked, but what does the TGDoD mean?"

HJP-TGDoD: "It's one of the 'titles' I have been given due to my actions in the war. It means 'The Great Dragon of Destruction'."

* * *

He was sitting in the lotus position. He grumbled at the pain in the ass it was to get into the position. The swords had been set into notches into the floor so that they were standing upright, blade downward. The seven pillars were starting to glow more brightly.

The balance of power in the time-travel ritual known as Merlin's Path was immensely delicate. The crystal pillars, while filled with a massive amount of magic, only used half of it on affecting the time magics internally. The other half was used to buffer the energies so that within there was only the needed energy. The Manastones however, were the primary 'key' to opening the 'door' to time.

If you can call one of the most energetically explosive substances known to wizarding-kind a key and the gossamer walls of time a door.

The array filled with power, filling the room with a metallic light the same color as the metal. As the circle second from the center was empowered, the Manastones started to glow with a brilliant white light.

As the magic became saturated in the array, the swords lifted from where they stood, floating in the air. The air around each blurred for a moment, and then an insubstantial copy hovered near each blade.

He felt the magics above him reach a peak, and so he set the final stage of the ritual in motion, by saying but one word, though it became distorted by the amount of magic surging in the air.

"**NOW.**"

Each of the Manastones flared into light that would put the noonday sun to shame, pumping out obscene amounts of purified Mana. Harry let a grin grace his face at that thought. Though Mana was by definition raw magic, there was still the potential for impurities of one kind or another in it. He had found a way to change that.

The six swords started glowing with a pale blue light, the little mythril he had put into the metal holding the raw power better than he had dared to hope. As he could literally feel time becoming thinner in the space above him, the three swords that had substance cut through the air above him, cleaving a hole into time itself.

He felt a pull on him, and barely noticed the three immaterial copies of the blades rush through the rift above him.

A moment later there was simply a body there, the magic within keeping it functioning without it soul. Moments later, the tenuous anchors keeping the magic within the shell gave way, and it followed after the soul it had been in contact with for so very long. The body of Harry Potter dropped to the ground, dead.

* * *

Harry Potter hurtled through time, three swords filled with magic proceeding him. Around him was a shifting tunnel of sound and light, and his mind could not make heads or tails of it. It didn't matter that he couldn't, all he had to do was follow the thin golden thread in front of him.

It was his own existence through time. It didn't give details, and it didn't show when it was. He felt his magic being dragged along behind him, and wondered how much of it would be lost in the transition.

And so he waiting, the only two things he tried to keep track of was his own time thread and the speed at which he was traveling. He'd need to execute the end of his backstep through time as soon as he had slowed down enough. He wanted to have enough time once he was back where it truly matter. He wanted to make sure his past-self would realize as large a power boost as possible.

'There, I think I'm starting to lose momentum.' A few beats of what passed for time later he thought, 'I am sure of it now, I'm starting to slow.'

He waited a few more moments of non-time, and then thought, '**NOW.**'

The three swords flashed into violent motion, opening a second rend in time, before they faded away. Harry braced himself before he flew back into linear time.

* * *

He landed in a heap upon and endless field of gray grass beneath a viridian sky. As he pulled himself to his feet, a gentle wind blew around him. He saw a small shape sleeping in the grass in the distance, a haze of energy the size of a van surrounding it. He took a few steps toward his past-self before he heard a feminine voice.

"_**Wait.**_"

Harry turned toward whatever it was that spoke, cursing the fact that he was completely defenseless.

"_**You must be judged before you can complete what seek to do.**_"

He found himself looking upon a woman who looked to be no older than her mid-twenties, with long wavy blonde hair that went midway down her back. Her skin was pale and seemed to glow like the moon. Her facial features seemed to harken back to the statues of the goddess of ancient Rome.

"My I presume that you are some avatar of Time, my Lady?"

She smiled softly as she stared into his eyes for several long minutes, before the smile broadened into an outright grin, and she said, "_Y**ou pass, great warrior. Unlike Merlin, and many others, who sought only to fix errors of their own making, errors that came to ill even thought the choices that caused them were made with the best of intentions, you seek to prevent a disaster that you have already done your utmost to deal with. Quite frankly you, and your world, were doomed before you could ever be at fault.**_"

A blank look crossed his face, and he nodded before saying, "Thank you, but why you are telling me this because?"

"_**The ritualistic spell known to you as Merlin's Path is the only example known to magic users of true time-travel. All others cause the being sent back to move along a divergent timeline. The time-traveler is, in essence, abandoning their reality for another. This one however, causes a slow ****overwrite of what was history from the original's perspective to what is reality from the younger ****one's. And in fact with the changes you made to the ritual will harden the timeline to the one fault in Merlin's Path. However it will not completely prevent it. Now go wake your younger self. There is much you have to do. You have enough time to do what you wish, so make haste, but do not rush. Good luck, great warrior.**_"

He nodded as she seemed to dissolve into small luminous spheres of silver light. He turned around and started walking toward his younger self, muttering, "She never answered my first question..."

He knelt down by the small form of his younger self, and gently shook his shoulder and softly said, "Harry, you need to awaken."

* * *

Harry was a confused young man. He was being woken up by somebody gently pushing on his shoulder. Whenever one of his relatives would touch him to wake him up, it was far from gentle. Normally, it was just Aunt Petunia rapping at his cupboard door and screeching at him to wake up.

"Harry, you need to awaken." It sounded like some old man.

He opened his eyes and saw... _'Wait, this isn't my cupboard. Where am I?'_

He shot to his feet and started staring about, panic starting to set in. His attention was brought to the man who had woken him spoke again, "Easy Harry, you are perfectly safe. I need to talk to you."

The old man had a weather beaten face, with a good many scars. He was dressed in baggy gray pants and a loose fitting dark red shirt. He had messy black hair that seemed to go every where and bright green eyes like Harry had. In fact he looked a lot like... '_Me...'_

"_What do you need to talk, and why is it you look like you could be my grandpa? Aunt Petunia said all my grandparents are dead."_

The old man gained a small smile, and said, "Well, the answer to your question is tied into what I want to talk to you about. I know that this may seem a little far fetched, but I am you, from a little more than sixty years in the future."

Harry became wide eyed as he looked at... himself? His eyes flicked to the forehead of the man and saw... _'Where is my scar?'_

Elder Harry saw the glance and chuckled ruefully, "Looking for that godforsaken scar?", Little Harry meekly nodded his head, "There is a lot I have to tell you, and some of the worst revolves around our scar. If you agree to what I am going to ask of you, we'll be getting rid of it on you too."

Little Harry drew a breath and asked, _"I need you to tell me something only we would know... Then tell me what you are going to ask me."_

The older man nodded and said, "Well, I need to know when it is first..."

"_Sometime around Christmas, and I'm seven,"_ Little Harry said holding up the requisite number of fingers.

"So, late December, 1987..." The old man paced back and forth for a moment, making thoughtful sounds, and then said, "Well, Mrs. Figg also knows this, but we never told anyone else. Ever. Starting a little after we turned five she started teaching us how to play the piano. Is that proof enough?"

Little Harry nodded, and said, "_So,what do you want to ask me?"_

"The method I used to travel back through time, it is unique among a good many ways to traverse time. Almost all other ways people use to send their minds and souls back in time result in the... lost of the earlier instance of the time-traveler." Younger Harry's eyes widened and fear and he opened his mouth, but Elder Harry plowed on, "However that is **not** the case with Merlin's Path. I do, however, need your consent to take up residence in your body. Eventually, when we reach the time I left from, we'll become one person, until then I'll be a voice in your head who can teach you, advise you, and if you allow it, take control from time to time."

"_I just want to ask you one thing, do we ever get to have any friends?"_

"Not as many as I would have wanted, but yes. Yes, we do get some friends."

"_Then if it will help them, if the future is bad enough for you to travel through time, then yes. I agree."_

"Then I need you to focus on the haze surrounding you, willing it to stay were it is, and then follow me," the elder instance of the Boy-Who-Lived said as he started walking away.

The younger looked around him, noticing what was around him for the first time. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then followed the elder man. He followed after the older him and said, _"Where are we anyway?"_

"Your mind, we are in your mind while you sleep in the real world," the elder said as he looked skyward. He grimaced and knelt down. "Put your arms around my neck, we need to move more quickly."

The younger did as he was told, and the elder started running away from where they were standing. The 'world' for lack of a better world lurched a few times, before it occurred to the younger Harry to ask, _"What was that haze anyway?"_

"That, my younger self, is your magic."

"_My... magic?"_

"You Harry, are as Hagrid said to me, are a wizard. Though with the power I ended up having, the more proper term is mage. If anything, you are going to be more powerful than I was. Before you tried to deny it, try to remember the times that you were upset or scared and things happened that you couldn't explain, that Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon got angry for."

The younger nodded and asked, _"But where is your magic?"_

The elder smiled as he knelt back to the ground and set his young self down. He then pointed at the sky. As the seven year old Harry looked skyward, and the little one's jaw dropped. It was massive solid looking fireball.

"Looks to be about the size of Castle Hogwarts. Damn, I thought it would have lost more volume."

This time he didn't even ask, he just threw Harry the Younger over his shoulder and started running again. The landscape blurred a dozen times before they stopped moving again. As they watched the mass of magic fall to the ground, younger Harry said, _"Not perfect are we?"_

"No where near close, and achieving perfection is impossible anyways. So it is pointless to even try."

"_So why does your magic seem so very more... solid than mine?"_

"That is going to be a lesson for later, but your magic will eventually be as dense as my own. Don't worry about it."

They watched as the massive mass of magic fell to the ground toward the younger instance's magic. The elder Harry spoke, "As soon as our magic starts to settle down from the merging, I am going to have to ask to take control for a few days. We are going to get away from the Dursleys, but I am going to have to act quickly. First I am going to have to forcibly calm the magic more quickly. Then there is this old man out there, who with the best of intentions is trying to protect us from some very bad people. He has spells that are watch Number Four that will alert him to the spike in magic that is going to happen. We'll never have to seem them again. After we get settled, I'll start teaching you magic."

"_Okay... When we wake up, do what you have to..."_

They quieted, and simply watched as the ball of magic came lower and lower. When it finally hit the ground, they both were thrown from their feet as a massive flash of light occurred. As they climbed to their feet, the light died down. In the distance there was a tumult of energy about twice the size of Number Four, there were places where the magic was a thin as young Harry's originally was, and others were it was much thicker, though no where near as dense as it was in the time-traveler's magic. They then waited for it all to calm down.

* * *

In the dark of the cupboard under the stairs, a pair of green eyes shot open and the body of a seven year old boy stood up. He held his left hand before him, palm toward his face while his right clutched at the new/old ache of the scar and muttered the word, "_Tempus._"

Above his palm the following appeared, '25 December, 1987, 03:21 AM'.

Harry smiled softly and said, "Happy Christmas to us." He cast a quick charm to expand the interior of his school bag, and stuffed his clothing and few other personal effects into it, after getting completely dressed. It was a bit awkward after having been out of the cupboard for so long, but what was he to do.

Looking at the door, and knowing that it was locked, he decided to forgo subtly and simply gestured at it. He was really glad that his best wandless magics were wordless, gestured combat spells. The door exploded outwards with a resounding boom, showering the hall in the splinters of the former door.

He made his way into the dark kitchen as he heard his uncle yelling out a curse ridden wondering of what exploded. Pulling out a pot and filling it with paper towels, he then lit the contents on fire using a match. Waiting for the paper to be rendered down to ash, he started looking through the twenty-four piece knife set that Aunt Petunia was ever-so proud of.

Eventually settling on the 5" chef's knife, he tucked it away in his bag, just as Vernon came lumbering into the room, and already yelling, "What in the bloody **hell** have you done Freak? It's the belt for all this freakishness it is, nothing is going to stop me this time!"

Harry gestured at the angry mountain of a man with out even looking at him, dangling him in midair by his left ankle, completely silenced. At least the man hadn't turned on the lights in the room. Harry sighed, and transfigured a cloth into a small drawstring bag, into which he transferred the ash he had just made.

The energies of the scar were starting to give him a headache. He'd get his hands on some sandalwood later to make a more permanent way of dealing with it, but this would hold for now. Well as soon as he got the time to put the containment circles down on the scar.

Harry turned his head to stare in the direction of the street as he felt a pulse of energy denoting an incoming portkey. "Dumbledore is awfully quick." He gestured at Vernon dropping the silencing spell and only the silencing spell, as Harry decided discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and started to sink into the shadows he had been standing in. This form of travel would leave far fewer trances than any other, and would be nigh impossible to follow.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had been going through the end of term paperwork, when most of the devices that monitored Harry's well being exploded. The old man quickly charmed the quill he was using to become a portkey to take him to the edge of the wards at Privet Drive. As he made his way to the house, he flicked his wand out, fearing that knocking would take far too long.

As he stepped into the hall, he saw that it looked like the door to the cupboard under the stairs had... exploded outward. Vernon was hanging upside down by one of his ankles, yelling about how he would 'beat the freak to within an inch of his life'.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts paled. What kind of people had he left Harry with? As he stepped toward the angry man he glanced into the cupboard, he felt sick. There was a crib bed in there... was that where they made Harry sleep? He felt something tickle the edge of his senses, but brushed it off to examine after he had dealt with Vernon. Walking up to this poor excuse for a man, he proceeded to rather ruthlessly use Legilimency on him. Moments later, he stunned the man and left him hanging, absolutely disgusted with Vernon Dursley. He proceeded up to the Master Bedroom, he had to know what Petunia allowed what he saw happen to her own blood.

Stomping down the stairs, he had to prevent himself from taking some manner of vengeance on these people. Maybe he would take a page out of the Marauder's book... That could quite possibly be cruel. He'd think more on it later. It was really quite upsetting that Sirius had been a traitor, this never would had happened if Harry had gone with his Godfather. Black's tended to be so paranoid with their wards that even the blood wards here would have been a puppy next to a rabid wolf.

As he examined the magical energies swirling around the cupboard... It seemed like... time magics? Was it possible... Had a future version of Harry backstepped? But there was none of the energy that denoted the fact that the younger instance of Harry had been destroyed. He had heard a few rumors in tales about two souls and minds residing in the one body...

He then proceeded to examine the area of the kitchen that Harry had disappeared from. All he got was a few faint traces of shadow magics. And no telling where he had gone. Definitely lent some credence to the backstep theory.

Could this be the power he knows not...

As he walked from the house, he marveled at how those four had always made everyone look left while moving right...

"Bugger."

Everyone had **known** that Sirius Black had been their secret keeper, and the spell had been performed in the utmost secrecy, and only the Marauders and Lily had been present. Had they pulled their standard tactics? Sirius's trial, or rather lack thereof, had been a complete and total sham if one looked from a perspective of justice...

"Bloody hell."

He had better look into this.

* * *

Harry sat down on a bench in the park not all that far from Number Four, wrapped in warming spells. It was the middle of winter, Gringotts would not be open for until tomorrow. Strangely enough there was a goblin holiday that coincided with Christmas that resulted in the bank being closed for the day.

Walburga Black had been dead for about two years. Orion Black for even longer. Grimmauld Place would probably be deserted, and not at all fit for habitation... But the fact of the mater was that with Arcturus still alive, Sirius had probably yet to inherit anything at all from his family. Yes his mother had 'disowned' him, but he had never been cast out by his head of house.

He could go to Arcturus for sanctuary (who was surprisingly moderate for a Black) as his grandmother had been Dorea Potter (nee Black)... But that would probably severely limit him in what he could do coming under the protection of the House of Black as an underage member.

Of course he could always find a house where the family was away on holiday and squat for the thirty or so hours it would be until the bank opened.

He scratched at his scar, and muttered a few choice epithets.

_'Um, big me, can I ask you something?'_

'Go right ahead mini-me.'

_'Why are you constantly complaining about our scar bothering you?'_

'You may not notice it because it has been there for as long as you can remember, but it hurts, makes it harder to think, and is even draining off a small portion of our magic.'

He could practically see the gobsmacked look on his younger self's face. _'What is wrong with it then?'_

'I've got a story to tell you as soon as I can figure where we are going to spend most of the next day...'

He resented the fact that most of the Potter 'properties' had been sealed with the death of his paternal Grandparents prior to his birth. They had raised their son in Godric's Hollow, not wanting to be in the relatively large, but rather empty, Potter Manor. It wasn't as large as some of the grander pureblood ancestral homes, but he had always wondered why his parents had retreated to the ancestral wards and added the Fidelius on top of them. Voldemort would have had to bring down the wards before he could have thrown up his own anti-portkey and apparation wards.

"Guess we're going to be squatting for a little while."

He stood up and started using a linear, short range, open ground movement magic called 'ghost step' to move along the streets of Little Whinging, casting human revealing spells on each and every single house he came across.

He eventually came to one that would suit his purpose and moved to look through the window. A short range apparation later, and he was inside without setting off any alarms. He poked around for a little bit making sure to memorize how everything looked so he could put it right before he left.

Going into one of the loos, he pulled the bag of ash from. He piles some in the palm of his hand and starts chanting under his breath in Latin. When the ash pulsed with a purple light, Harry rubbed it into the scar and the skin surrounding it a quarter in all directions from the center. He cupped the palm of a hand over the scar, and again started chanting under his breath, this time in Ancient Greek.

He carried on for ten minutes before drawing his hand away. A array of tiny runes was now over the scar, a trio of lines spiraling inward contained with a thorned circle. Harry breathed a sigh of relieve as he started to feel the constant headache being to slide away. He also felt more than a little drained. He had been making heavy use of magics today while his energies were still recovering.

_'That... how come I never felt how much that **hurt**?'_

'Because, like I said, it has been there for as long as you can remember. Do you mind if I hold off story time until the morning? I am knackered.'

_'No, I could do with some more sleep too.'_

'That is at least partially my fault. I overdid it with the amount of magic I did.'

_'It was wicked though. Are you going to teach me how to do that?'_

'Eventually. There are somethings I am going to leave until school, or until you have been taught certain things in school.'

The reply had a certain amount of sullenness to it, _'Okay...'_

Blanketing the room he had chosen to sleep in warming charms, he climbed under the covers, relinquished control of his younger self's body, and went to sleep until sometime around noon.

* * *

Dumbledore stepped off the ferry onto the dock of Azkaban Isle. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot he had the right to inspect the Isle and prison whenever he chose. That he was using this as a chance to question Sirius Black under Veritaserum. As he made his way through the fortress-prison he made a mental note to submit and actual report for this 'inspection'. Everyone was doing quite a good job for it being Christmas.

He entered the highest security section of the prison. Or in other words, the part guarded entirely by Dementors rather than humans. Well at least it would be rather easy to question Sirius. Just past his cousin Bellatrix's cell, he came to one Sirius Black.

The man looked more emaciated and unwashed than even the worst vagrant, but being in a prison that harkened back to how Victorian England would treat their criminals, if they were given soul-sucking emotivores, would do that to a man.

"Sirius, can you hear me?"

The man sounded perfectly sane when he said, "Happy Christmas, Professor. Doing some charity work visiting the worst of the worst?"

"I need to ask you a question," the old man said as he tossed a vial of what looked like water at Black.

"Three drops?"

"Yes."

One potion does later, Albus asked, "Were you ever the Secret Keeper for the Potters?"

Sirius voice was distant and even as he replied, "No."

Another vial was tossed to the Black as he said, "I am going to push for a trail. Since Harry will be rejoining our world in less than four years, I am going to make it seem like I want something more permanent done to a traitor who almost committed genocide of an Great House... Likely pushing for the Kiss or Veil..."

But this time, Sirius had taken the antidote and said, "But nothing like that can be done without a trial, which I never got."

"Exactly. I think I shall have you out before the year is out."

"What brought this change on?"

"I had to pay a visit to where Harry resided this morning..."

"I forgot who was after Alice and Frank on the will."

"He never went to anyone on the will..."

A blank look came across Sirius's face as he thought about that. "Please tell me you didn't..."

"I can't answer that without you being clearer."

"Don't play games old man, you know that I was asking that you didn't place Harry with Petunia Dursley!"

The old man looked properly shamefaced, and did not reply.

Sirius advanced on the bars of his cell as he spoke, "For all the love Lily held for her sister, Petunia hated Lily's guts. And the man she married... manaphobic isn't the proper word because rather than fear magic, he hates it with a passion. I thought he may very well be a second generation squib from one of the darker pureblood families. What happened to Harry?"

"I am not entirely sure Sirius, but I know that for now I do not believe him hurt."

"**He is missing?**"

"I don't know. If Harry is exactly where he means to be, how can he be missing?"

"I told you to **stop playing games**, old man!"

More than a little off put by the reaction of Sirius, Dumbledore decided to stop talking in circles, a truly rare occurrence with him. Besides which, it would be good practice for when he apologized to Minerva and tell her she told him so. So, he quickly laid out his theory that Harry was now playing host to a second him from a future so bleak that it had necessitated what was probably a spell of epic proportions.

Sirius was deathly silent for a few minutes, "So how are we going to find him?"

Dumbledore smiled at that question and shared a rare bit of knowledge with Sirius.

* * *

Harry woke up. In a bed. He was confused for a few moments before he events of the night before came crashing down on him. He started to panic, hoping the older him was still there.

_'Big me?'_

He heard the mental equivalent of a sleepy grunt.

He breathed a sigh of relief, and thought, _'I'm hungry but you said something about leaving everything right where it is?'_

'Alright, alright, I'm up, I'm up. Just get everything out that you are going to use, all measured out then prod me or something...'

A breakfast whose ingredients were duplicated with a quick charm (the elder Harry mentioned in passing that it halved the nutritional value of what was being doubled, but that he had plans to fix the serious malnutrition Harry was going through, so a little more wouldn't hurt in the long run), the Harry from the future started telling the younger Harry about the past that his 'relatives' were either ignorant of or outright lied about.

He went into detail about the Blood War and its major players, while answering any questions that his younger self may have had about the subject. About how Voldemort had eventually started hunting Harry's parents for a reason that would be told to him when he was older. About how their parents were betrayed by a close friend, Peter Pettigrew. He explained about Voldemort's attempt to kill Harry after murdering his parents, and how the elder Harry had eventually discovered an ancient ritual that, when both parents sacrificed themselves to protect their child, how the sum of their magics would spring to the defense of their offspring one last time. How Dumbledore, being a rather overly kind and forgiving man, one who could not help but believe the best in people, and having the theory that there was some manner of blood magic protection on him from his mother's sacrifice, placed Harry with the only living relative of his mother's family. He explained how Sirius Black, their godfather, went a bit spare, attempted to hunt down the traitor, and gotten himself sent to prison without a trial when _everyone_ seemed to know he was the Secret Keeper.

After that, the younger Harry was feeling more than a little drained and asked if the elder wouldn't mind taking a nap. The elder was still adjusting to the fact that he had finally accomplished something other than raiding, and so felt that he could use some more rest.

* * *

Refreshed and ready to do something, Harry the elder decided it was time to start teaching the younger about magic.

'Attend, my young fellow, for I have decided that until we can get well and truly settled, I am going to be spending our free time teaching you the basics about magic. We're going to start with a lecture, and then I'll give a choice on what to do.'

He could practically feel the glee coming from his littler self, and so continued, 'For the most part witches and wizards use wands to focus their magic into a readily usable form. But, as I am sure you have noticed, I have yet to even touch a wand. That is because anything that can be done with a wand, and a great many that cannot, can be done wandlessly.

'Now, most of British magical community, a great deal of Europe, and a sizable chunk of the rest of the world believe that the ability to use magic wandlessly is a rare, inborn talent. They are **wrong**. And it is that belief that makes it so very difficult for them to learn wandless magics. Because belief is the primary key. You have to **believe** that you can do the magics without a wand, and then it is just a matter of being able to call forth your magic and compose in the manner of the spell you want.

'Now there are a few secondary things which effect how good a person can be at wandless magics, those being power and focus. On the subject of the first we have in spades, the second is something that can be easily developed over time. 

'Now, I'm not going to teach you all that many _standard_ magics, just a handful of first year charms and transfigurations. We're going to focus on those until you can cast them quickly and reliably, letting you get a feel for your magic. And then we'll move on to the more fun and... esoteric... stuff.'

Future Harry could almost mentally see the 'eyes' of the younger Harry practically lit up with excitement as he asked, _'Define... stuff!'_

'Well there is one particular field of magic that I am going to teach you that will awe a great many people, but I want that to be a surprise. I'll be teaching you all the magical means that I know to get around, including that little method I used earlier, the ghost step. In case you are wondering, the thing I did with shadows will also be taught, but that goes with an entire branch of magics called, plainly enough, shadow magics. Elemental magics is something else that I am going to teach you. Pillars of fire, blades of wind, spears of earth, shields of water, that kind of stuff. 

'Most of this I am going to teach by 'demonstrating' with me in control and then ceding that control back to you. I am going to give you some history and general information that you will probably find extremely useful, along with my vocabulary. I just need your permission to put the knowledge into your mind.'

The younger one was quite for a few moments, before the said, _'Yes.'_

Concentrating for a few moments, the time-traveler gathered together all of the carefully categorized information that he was going to be giving his younger self, which included, but was not limited to, the relatively complete history of the non-magical world, large swaths of history for the magical world (which if compared side-by-side would be an entertaining study/game of spot the differences), what he had managed to dig up about social etiquette in both worlds, the seven languages that the elder Harry spoke with complete fluency, the dozen and a half that he could speak with conversational fluency, and the various dead languages that he knew for spell casting.

_'Bloody **hell!** Did you just put a small **library** in my head?'_

'Yup.'

* * *

An interesting side effect of two minds sharing one brain was that while the Harry from the future already had a fully developed and defended mindscape, the younger one had spontaneously developed his own.

While the elder Harry had been going about his business, the younger had been exploring the rat's warren of cramped hallways and closets that his own mind had become. The fact was that while he disliked be relegated to the cupboard under the stairs, the fact was that it was **his** cupboard, it was where, forced or not, he spent most of his time, and he had generally come to feel more at ease in small spaces.

When his older self had dropped the knowledge into his mind, the walls of that represented it morphed into bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books of all shapes, sizes, and colors.\

'Harry?'

The young boy grunted distractedly as he read the titles on the bindings.

'Are you going to take some time to see what I gave you?'

_'Uh huh.'_

'We're going to work on your ability to store and recall information later, and we do need to go over what I am going to be guiding you through that is non-magical.'

The only reply was an extremely distracted, _'Okay.'_

* * *

With his past self driven into distraction with a metric crap-ton of knowledge, the future Harry went to the bag of stuff he had, gently pulled out the knife he had pilfered from the Dursleys, and then proceeded to dump the clothing, and few other possessions, on the floor.

He focused on the knife first, he would need a ritual blade until he managed to get his hands on an actual athame. Or in the worst case, had one made. He muttered to himself. He was great at wandless combat, passable at wandless charms, but absolutely pants at wandless transfiguration. He was glad that all he had planned was like to like transfiguration.

Going slowly and carefully, he changed it from its current form to something that roughly resembled a poniard, though the transition from the flat of the blade to the edge was sudden, leaving a rather large flat area that he would later inscribe with runes. He altered the handle to something that would be more comfortable on the now dagger. The edged weapon was still and edged weapon, just different. He muttered a few quick etching charms to plant pain numbing and quick healing to the dagger so that any wounds caused by it would be less of a hassle.

Digging through the clothes for something that was unsalvageable, he used the majority of a rather disgusting shirt (he used three or four separate cleaning charms on it first, before he extended the thought (and the spells) to include the entire pile) to make a wrist sweatband. Nodding at his work, he started piecing together the rune arrays that would allow anchor a small pocket dimension to the aforementioned wristband.

And he could then store his shiny new dagger in that space.

A quick color change spell to 'inscribe' the array into the cloth, and his dagger was nice and safe. It was keyed to come out of storage when he spoke the Latin phrase meaning 'ritual knife'.

He then sat down and started working on making the clothing he had actually fit him, while changing them so they were all (asking his younger self's opinion on what to pick) dark colors. He kept the pants to blacks and grays, while making the shirts various colors. He sacrificed a few of the more oversized things to make himself one pair of plain light gray robes and, along with his jacket, a pure white cloak. He wasn't entirely sure what the younger Harry wanted the cloak to be that color, but he really didn't mind. He layered the cloak in charms that would make it even more effective at keeping him warm and comfortable in the weather than his coat.

He spent the next could of hours either meditating, or doing some stretching.

After dinner, they finally moved on to a practical lesson in magic. It was a fairly simple charm that you had to be cursed to have it fail spectacularly. The ever useful light charm, _lumos_. He demonstrated it, and the counter a few times, enunciating the incantations, while explaining the theory and process behind, and then let his younger self go wild with it.

As the younger learned with much vigor, elder ruminated on what order he would teach various skills to his past self. It was a fair certainty that after the boy had gotten comfortable with his magic, they would probably focus primarily on Manacraft. He'd throw in new things here and there to keep his student interested. But it would always come back to Manacraft until his student had a good enough grounding in the subject.

Those would probably be some interesting lessons. He had been unintentionally supplementing his spells with Mana of one form or another for at least a decade before he had, quite literally, stumbled over the some of the most basic texts about it.

As he started laying out the exact order he'd go about teaching his younger self how to hand raw magic, he made a note to get a hold of some earplugs.

About an hour later, he turned his attention back to what his younger self was doing, and saw that at least a dozen orbs of light, of varying color, size, and intensity were floating around the room. It still took him a good ten seconds to perform the spell or the counter, and ever fourth or fifth time the kid performed it the spell would fizzle and fail completely, but it was a damn good start.

* * *

Grumbling in a generally unpleasant manner, Harry (the older) pulled on some of the clothing he had transfigured yesterday before throwing on the robe and the cloak on top of it. It was about noon, and the only reason that hadn't left for Gringotts yet was the fact that one of them had decided it would be a good thing to sleep in.

The problem was that neither of them could figure out which one it had been.

He sigh discontentedly as he wrapped himself in a disillusionment charm layered with a notice-me-not charm, before he apparated to an alley off of Charing Cross Road. He made his way quickly to the Leaky Cauldron, making sure the hood of his cloak covering his head. And just to be save, he exerted a small amount of shadow magics to obscure his face from anyone who took the time to look.

As he walked through the Leaky Cauldron, he explained to his younger self how this place served as the bridge between the wizarding shopping district and the non-magical world, especially for the first generation witches and wizards. As he made his way through the back, he idly noted he was catching some attention, but it wasn't often you saw someone the size of a child in a pure white cloak moving with purpose and certainty.

Tapping the proper brick behind the pub, and waiting for the portal into the Alley to open, he started a short lecture on goblins.

'One of the languages you should know now is Gh'obal De'guk. That is how the name of the goblin language is pronounced properly. Do not let any idiots convince you that it is pronounced Gobbledegook. If it weren't for the countless treaties, any goblin worth the name would **kill** you for butchering the name of their native tongue. Speak it whenever possible when dealing with the goblins, it won't earn you their respect, but they will be less inclined to hate your guts.

'When greeting a goblin, the first thing out of your mouth should be some manner of saying wishing them increased wealth. There isn't really any set form, but make it as impressive as you can. The goblin will then, hopefully, reply with a statement about you being victorious in battle. At the end of the conversation, comment about them bringing their foes to a brutal death, and they will give you a line about hoping that your fortunes will grow. In between, be direct and to the point. Time is money. You might want to take the time to go over the information I've given you on goblins. Now I have to deal with some creatures whose past times include torture and clan wars.'

He finished his little impromptu lecture as he made his way past the outer doors of Gringotts. Throwing back his hood before he stepped through the inner doors, he noted that the floor of the bank was mostly devoid of humans. He made his way to the leftmost tellers booth, to which there was no queue, thankfully. He called his knife forth for a moment and slashed his left palm. Cupping his hand so that blood would pool, he quickly double checked what he was about to do.

As he came closer, he conjured a stepladder with a twitch of his right hand, pushing his wandless transfigurations to their limits. He had two thoughts, the first being, 'I hope it holds,' while the latter was, 'I hate being short.'

He hopped up the stepladder, grabbing a blank piece of parchment as the Senior Teller looked at him like something he had scrapped off his boot. Harry gave him a feral grin that showed lots of teeth as he dipped his right index finger in the blood on his left hand, and scratched out three quick goblin runes with the bloodied finger.

As he spun the parchment so that the goblin could read what he wrote, he continued grinning the awful smile that seemed to scream, 'I know you're a predator, but I'm a bigger one'. He also idly translated the runes he had just drew.

**'Against time's flow.'**

The goblin glared at him and said, "You expect me to believe this?"

Harry's face dropped into an emotionless stone mask as he growled out, in perfect Gh'obal De'guk, "If violence was not forbidden within the above ground levels of Gringotts, I'd cook your ass with Manafire and pray that someone more intelligent gets your job."

The little monster dropped into his native tongue and repeating, "And I said, you expect me to believe this?"

"Then use the blood as a sample to confirm my identity. The start drawing up the SJ-304s for the emancipation of a minor sole surviving heir to an ancient and noble house. After that, you can start filling out the WK-712s to close out every last single Potter vault. Either way, I get what I want."

The goblin froze, exactly as Harry expected him to. If what he knew was correct, the Potter family was about the seventh largest active depositor at the bank. This little exchange was more than expected by, it annoyed him to have to waste time.

"Well, are you just going to stand there like some clanless bastard with no spine, or are you going to make a decision?"

The little savage ran off to start setting things into motion, so Harry vanished the parchment with his blood and the blood in his palm. The cut on his hand had already scabbed over, and would probably heal long before he finished his business here, probably before it was even truly started. Humming softly to himself, he waited, wishing he had brought something to read.

Ten minutes later, the Senior Teller came back and said, "Follow me, Bank Director Ragnok wishes to speak with you."

Harry simply nodded, and followed the goblin into the back of the bank. He idly noted the positions of the guards he walked past, he silently wondered what had kicked this up the chain of command so fast. He had expected that he would have to make at least a dozen more threats to middle management before he managed to get in to see the big cheese.

_'So is that how you interact with goblins?'_

'Not just no, but hell no. At least not how any wizard is supposed to. I had the... pleasure of fighting alongside a goblin platoon for the better part of three years. That is how goblins act around other goblins in... tense... social situations. You have to remember, goblin's lives revolve around violence and pain. It is part of the reason they enjoy making wizards wade through the bureaucracy of Gringotts. By the time the last member of that platoon died, they thought that I was the early avatar of their god of destruction. Part of it was due to the sheer amount of damage I could cause, part was from how quickly goblin I picked up anything having to do with goblin culture.'

_'Wicked.'_

The conversation ended as Harry followed the Teller along a plush red carpet that ran down the middle of a long hallway past at least a dozen guards. As they reached the very large doors at the end of the hallway the Senior Teller spoke to the guard closest to the door, who was armed with a thick hafted spear.

"Lord Ragnok has expressed a desire to speak with this human."

The guard nodded shortly and rammed the butt of his spear against the stone beside the carpet three times. Half a minute later the doors swung open outwards, showing that despite the fact the doors were thirteen feet tall, the opening behind them was only about six and a half feet high.

A voice called out, "Please come into my office Mister Potter."

As he entered the comfortably proportioned and lavishly decorated office, with a beautiful looking stone desk, Harry kept his face relatively blank. He didn't need to be careful, per se, but he really did not want to stick his foot in his mouth. Stopping by a chair in front of the desk, Harry gave the older looking goblin seated behind it a short bow, before he spoke once more in the goblin tongue, "May you always sleep upon a fresh mountain of gold, Lord Ragnok."

The Director of Gringotts broke into a massive predatorial grin when he replied, "And may the armies of your enemies be driven before your wrath, Mister Potter. Take a seat."

As Harry dropped into the chair, keeping his hand on a crystal set in the left arm, he spoke in a (as much as he could manage in that particular tongue) lackadaisical tone, "Been there, done that. I was hoping with this backstep that I would have to commit any acts of magic that would earn me some rather pretentious names. So what do you wish to discuss? I'll be honest with you, I expected to have to bully some bureaucrats before I could get the chance to speak with you."

"Were you serious about killing one of my Senior Tellers with Manafire?"

"If you mean serious in that I was going to do it? No. I have no interest in forfeiting my familial vaults. If you meant to ask if I was capable of it? Yes. I still need to get my magic back into hand, but I think I could call forth enough to kill one goblin."

The goblin's grin had faltered as he replied, "You do know that Manafire is almost as destructive as Fiendfyre?"

Harry replied by first grinning, showing every last possible tooth, and said, "Mine's worse."

"You know, it is very hard to pull of the alpha predator act when you are a cute, for a human, little, malnourished child."

"I know, it is absolutely horrid."

"Just what class of temporal incursion did you pull?"

"More than fifty years, less than a hundred, prior self still intact... I'm not even what I pulled had ever been classified. When temporal incursions were theoretically laid out, they were almost positive that any major shift was accompanied by the overwriting of the younger instance of the time-traveler."

"Do you know that sometime during the reign of every bank manager, they make a note to pass to the ones who will follow to find out if the Potters are trying to be difficult, or if they have a tendency to be the avatars for the various gods of chaos?"

"Nope. But after spending three years fighting on the same side as the 101st company of the Razorclaws, they were fairly certain that I was the avatar for Kad'var'esh."

"How did you manage to fight alongside a company of those berserkers?"

"They got trapped above ground when the North American clans sealed themselves off from the surface."

Ragnok reached into his desk and tossed an envelop to Harry. "To answer the question you alluded to, Albus Dumbledore called in one of the favors I owed him to pass a letter to the next person to invoke the services the bank provides for its top depositors who traverse the waters of time. The fact that you came in not two hour later, and that it was addressed to someone who should only be seven years old... Well, it made me curious."

Harry grunted, and said, "I never got to interact with the man as anything more than seemingly favored student to Headmaster, but damn is he good. Do you mind if we switch to English, my larynx is starting to hurt."

Ragnok switched back to his flawless English and said, "Not at all, I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. So how do you think he found out?"

"The devices he used to monitor my well being probably went haywire when I 'landed', and he was at my place of residence with minutes of my arrival. He probably sensed the residual magics."

"That settles my curiosity. So what can Gringotts do for one of its most valued customers?"

"I need a full accounting of all Potter vaults, the keystones so that I can pass though the sealed wards around all of the Potter properties, a lineage trace to confirm a few theories of mine, the key to my trust vault, the name of the current manager of my family's accounts, and a list of anyone ever suspected by the Gringotts Intelligence branch of ever having taken the Dark Mark. In return I will inform you that the Lestranges' placed a goblin artifact that has been tainted with dark soul magics in their vault. I will go further to say that this artifact is in fact the cup that was made for Helga Hufflepuff and that I will waive the finder's fee for bringing this to the bank's attention."

* * *

As Harry made his way out of the bank a little under an hour later, he thought, 'Well begun is half done.'

* * *

**A/N2: Here ends the first of my test runs/bunny exorcisms. If you enjoyed this one, read the other two, and vote for your favorite in the poll located at my author page!**


	2. End of the Status Quo

**A/N: Installment two. I'd once more send my gratitude to those who take the time out of their day to review. Sixth year AU. Any dates are guesstimates because due to what I looked at, Rowling seems to start screwing up the Harry Potter Calendar as compared to the Real World calendar somewhere in the Goblet of Fire. Not to mention it is just generally hard to follow what goes when except for what order in which they occur.**

**The first half of the first flashback absolutely sucks, and generally doesn't take off until somewhere around the 3k word mark, so I may have to rewrite the first quarter of this is I eventually make a story out of it. I found that I need to be properly depressed to write people in despair. Also accepting any ideas at better titles.  
**

**I still don't own Harry Potter, and I likely never will.**

* * *

Landstradd's First Chapters/Prologues

Story Two: (Tentative Title) End of the Status Quo

Prologue: The More Things Change

He really liked these semi-intelligent adhesion charms. Among other things, when they were paired with the proper kinds of body support or gravity redirection spells, you could walk on walls and ceilings like they were the floor.

Harry Potter smiled broadly as he lay on his back on top of one of the cars of the Hogwarts Express, staring into the sky as the scarlet steam engine powered its way north. He was wearing a pair of dark crimson slacks, a goldenrod long sleeved button-up shirt that was worn open, and a black t-shirt underneath it.

He had tried so hard this summer not to think about the events that had brought a shift to his world, but it was only a matter of delay. And it all went back to his godfather's death in June. He had screwed up so badly over the years in his blind attempt to achieve normalcy and maintain the status quo that he had gotten the closest thing he had ever known to either a father or a brother (he still wasn't sure quite what Sirius was to him) killed.

Yes, his master had beaten it into his head that it wasn't entirely his fault. Or even chiefly his fault. There were a good half a dozen people in front of his own name on the blame list, but he wouldn't let go of the fact that his name **was** there.

He remembered that he had barely held it together through the end of school. He'd barely talked to anyone, barely ate, and was fairly glad the his O.W.L.s had been over, so he didn't have to study. He'd managed to avoid making a fool of himself in front of others.

Of course that had only lasted as long as ten seconds after he had gotten into his room at Privet Drive. He'd dropped to his knees, and cried until he had no more tears. It had hurt so very bad then. Yes, it still hurt to think about what he had lost, and he thought that it might always hurt to think of the loss, even if the memories of the man could sometimes bring a slight smile to his face.

That day had been the beginning.

* * *

_Flashback, Begin_

He felt sick to his stomach from all of the crying he had just done. There was something he knew he had to do, but he wasn't sure whether he wanted to or not. Part of him hoped that he would be told that he had been wrong, that he was entirely to blame for the vast hole he felt, the massive pain of loss tearing at him.

Deciding to put it off for a while, he curled up on the floor and wallowed in self-pity. In order to get in the proper mood, he spent the next hour and a half trying to figure out just how much to blame he was for the ills of everyone he knew.

At the end of his contemplations, he wasn't sure what the hell to think anymore, though he was feeling better about himself, 'This isn't working out as well as I thought it would. Apart from being some manner of unholy bad luck charm, and walking into that goddamn trap in the D.o.M., I am having some real issues trying to apportion blame to myself. Grandmother says that it is a hold over from the Dursleys blaming everything that went wrong in their lives on me. It took her and Grandfather all of second year and most of third to get me to the point where I had something remotely resembling self-esteem, if only in private. There still is the whole guilt thing, though never really have tried to justify the guilt, though goodness knows they have tried to do it for years... I guess it takes hitting rock bottom to put things into perspective. And I have spoken to them since...'

"Oh bugger. They are not going to be happy with me. I haven't spoken to them since the end of May! The fact that I have kept the majority of what has happened this year from them is just going to make it worse."

Dragging himself over to his trunk, flipping it open. Rather than starting to dig through the piles of stuff with it, he started running his fingers along the edge of the lid, cursing under his breath. "They were going to chew me a new one. They get right pissed when I skip a week, let alone forgetting about them for more than a fortnight."

Pressing the last of the small runes carved onto the inside of the trunk lid, a section of the lid iris-ed open, revealing a hidden compartment. He reached in and pulled out a translucent silver and gold stone about the size of a grapefruit, that was in the shape of a frozen flame.

Climbing onto his bed, Harry laid back against his headboard, the rest of his body stretched out, and stared into the depths of the stone. As he cleared his mind, it began to pulse with a soft light in the same colors that comprised the stone. And soon it felt like he was falling, as though tied down to weights and thrown into deep water.

Moments later he was landing unevenly and falling over. He groaned to himself, he hadn't failed a landing so spectacularly since after twelfth time or so. He lay there for a minute, his cheek pressed against the soft carpet, until he sensed someone kneel beside him, run her fingers through his hair, and then he heard a woman's soft lilting voice say, "You haven't face-planted like that since All Hallows Eve of '92. What's wrong sweetie? Though you should be ashamed about forgetting about us for the better part of a month..."

"I screwed up big time Grandmother..."

The woman sighed under her breath and called out, "You'd better get in here honey, Harry's world went ass over teakettle at the end of the school year again."

The man's deep baritone responded, "What else is new?"

"Get your ass into the sitting room **now**, or you are spending the next century on the couch!"

The contrite reply followed, "Yes, dear."

She turned her attention back to Harry and said, "Are you just going to lay there like a lump or are you going to get up?"

"Well, Grandmother, I was originally planning on just laying on the floor of my room, brooding, but then I remembered how long it had been since I visited you two, and I really, _really_ didn't want to catch more hell for waiting longer. So I'd kinda like to just stay here, feeling sorry for myself."

He could actually hear her narrow her eyes at him, she grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head up off the carpet, growling out, "Well young man, you are going to pick yourself up off the floor, or I am going to get your grandfather to dose you with one of his herbal teas."

Failing to repress a shudder, Harry got his arms under him and got ready to lever himself up before saying, "Yes ma'am. Have I ever told you how much I hate that threat?"

She let go of his hair and stood, before replying smugly, "Why do you think I make it?"

Muttering curses under his breath, he hauled himself up off the floor... to get beaned in the head by an apple.

His grandmother then said, "If you are going to use foul language Harry, be original about it!"

"Yes, ma'am."

As his eyes regained focus, he saw that his grandmother had already taken a seat on one of the couches and his grandfather was just entering the room, heading toward his favorite easy chair. His grandmother was wearing one of her customary blue dresses with long sleeves, her long, bright blonde hair was in a braid, and her sharp gray eyes were watching Harry carefully. His grandfather was wearing his usual open front gray robes, with dark green slacks and a white shirt. He had inky black hair that went all over the place. They both looked far too young to be called grandmother and grandfather, but then again, when you existed without a body, you don't need to look your age.

Heading over to them and dropping himself onto the second couch, Harry just stared at his feet, unable to look either of them in the eye.

His grandmother prodded him with the question, "What did you mean by, 'I screwed up big time'?"

Still staring at his feet, he said, "I never thought to ask if Riddle could send false information down the link... and I fell for a trap... I got Sirius killed..."

Before they could say anything else he told them about the year he had had including everything he had left out when he had visited them. The fact that his friends had abandoned him to the loneliness of Privet Drive at a simple word from Dumbledore, how the Ministry had charged him on trumped up charges of underage magic (which was really confusing, because they had taught him how to wandlessly remove the Trace years ago, and Harry made sure to cast the counter every couple of weeks out of paranoia) and had then been tried before the full Wizengamot, about Umbridge's reign of terror at Hogwarts, and the various other disasters that followed. He went into detail about the night of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and told them about the prophecy.

When he had finished, he continued to stare down, feeling ashamed of himself for so many reasons. He had kept his troubles from two of the only people to ever truly help him. He had made so many mistakes...

"Harry," his grandmother's soft voice didn't sound like she was upset with him. A tad disappointed, yes, but not angry.

He still could not bring himself to look at them, and so replied with a simple, "Yes?"

"We need you to look at us. We can't talk to you if you don't look at us."

He forced his head up and looked each of them in the face, even if he still avoided eye contact.

His grandfather was the one to speak this time, "What have you learned from all this?"

"That there are too many people pushing me from too many directions for me to ever be normal. I can't be anything other than... I don't have a clue what I am or am supposed to be..."

"Good. Now you are not to blame for Sirius's death."

"But..."

His grandmother interrupted him, "But nothing. Dumbledore is to blame for not telling you that Riddle would try to lure you to the Prophecy Storehouse. Snape is to for being an untrustworthy git. Riddle is to blame for the fact that he was the one to initiate that fiasco. Bellatrix is the direct cause of Sirius's death. Sirius is to blame for the fact that he was messing around in the middle of a fight to the death. There is more than enough blame to pass around Harry, and you are fairly close to the bottom of the list. In fact your grandfather and I are a bit to blame, we went along with your plan to keep the link to Voldemort intact after you had purged his magic from your scar..."

His grandfather broke into the conversation, in a rather authoritative tone, "But what is most important is what you are going to do next, my apprentice. The first thing you are going to do when you go back to your body is sever the mind link. Then you are going to actually start doing your scrying. With the methods I taught you, and the crystal you use, most wards would be like a window. What you do with that information, whether it is passing it on to either the Ministry, Dumbledore's Order, or even taking it into your own hands, is up to you. Though if you take direct action, you need to stop holding back, and cease using that holly wand that stopped working correctly when we purged that bastard's magic from you. And speaking of Dumbledore, he is not to be trusted!"

Harry stuck his tongue out at his grandfather and said, "Well duh, Master. The bastard waited until I had just suffered a heartrending loss to drop a wyrd on my head. I'll also need to do some post-cognitive scrying to see if some of my... darker... worries about the Weasleys are true."

His grandmother took his pause to say, "What I want to know is how much of an effort did you put forth on your O.W.L.s?"

Harry grimaced and looked down and to the left, scratching at the back of his head. That was all the reply she needed, and so she said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement, "Well then you are going to retake them, we did not spend so much time teaching you in addition to your Hogwarts lessons for it all to go to waste.."

"Yes ma'am."

His grandfather cracked his knuckles and spoke, "Now, let's get down to the real planning..."

_Flashback, End_

* * *

He had received the box that the stone that connected him to his grandparents on his twelfth birthday, with an explanation that it was the repository for the souls of two of his distant ancestors who had bound their souls, along with other enchantments, to the stone upon their, bodily, deaths. One of the reasons that they hadn't been driven stir crazy by it was probably due to the fact that a good deal of the other enchantments gathered knowledge from certain libraries and other repositories into the 'reality' with in it. That this also included music, plays, (and more contemporarily) television shows, and movies, was quite possibly a godsend.

Harry had been tasked with tying in a repository for more of the latter two.

He had learned that though other noted families had crowed about their ancestors, like the Smiths screaming out that they were descended from Helga Hufflepuff, that the Weasleys had (when they still had their family lore) cried out that they were of the direct line of Godric Gryffindor, when the Gaunts had been still been a part of respectable (Harry could help but cackle at the thought of those inbred assholes being respectable) society they had flaunted their connection to Salazar Slytherin. There were many other families that underlined their connections to powerful or notable witches and wizards of the past, but the Potters always kept mum on whether or not they were of notable lineage.

Oh, how the best kept secrets are always the most amusing.

And so his 'grandparents' had helped him plan for direct action and Harry had then been set into motion. It had been his busiest summer ever, but it had left him with a feeling of accomplishment. He'd left the Dursley, for good, after having spent two days recovering for snapping the mind link like a dry twig, and another four performing his reconnaissance, both current and past.

He'd been right to be wary of some of the Weasleys. Fred and George were still the same friends they had always been, but Ron had been ordered to befriend him by both his mother and Dumbledore, to nudge him in the 'proper' direction. Ginny had been raised to view Harry as her knight in shining armor and Prince Charming. With the lack of interest on his own part, and Ron's report of her lack of trying toward a romantic relationship with Harry having settled during the last year at just being a friend for now, Molly had agreed with Dumbledore and was going to lace the next care package she sent to Harry with some mild love potions. Being a mite bit paranoid at these revelations, he scryed for other 'potions plots' to be initiated by the Weasleys, and had to add an objective to his to-do list.

The train hit a curve in the tracks as he paused in his musings to scratch his nose. He was glad for the oversized variant of the bubblehead charm he had used to keep himself out of the wind, and rather proud of the warming charm that had yet to fade in the slightest.

It had been on the fourth day that he had spied on a Death Eater meeting. They had been planning an assault on the Ancestral Manor of the Bones Family. Riddle had ordered the attack, with the Death Eaters being ordered to signal him prior to the falling of the wards. Amelia Bones could not be allowed to become the Minister of Magic. Luckily he had caught them speaking the coordinates for their apparation entry, and had beat them there by five minutes.

* * *

_Flashback, Begin_

He stepped through the dimensional door he had use, preferring the ease of taking a step through space to the squeezing of apparation or the whirling of a portkey. Hedwig was on his shoulder, a note tied to her leg. He was standing in off of a path leading to a gate and then to a manor about a quarter of a mile in the distance. There was roughly ten feet from either side of the path to the woods surrounding it. His owl took off toward the manor.

Harry had a long wand of some white colored wood in his right hand, and he had transfigured Dudley's castoffs into something that wouldn't make most people think him a homeless person. It wasn't fancy, a pair of dark green slacks and a gray short sleeved shirt, but it would do. A matte midnight black cloak overlaid it all, but it moved strangely. The wind did not touch it, and any movement that caused it to ripple did not last long.

Dumbledore had probably thought that the Potter Family heirloom that seemed for all the world as a simple invisibility cloak was The Invisibility Cloak of the legendary Deathly Hallows. The fact that Grindelwald had been in possession of the Elder Wand was, though little known, written about. It was only a minor cognitive leap that the Headmaster had it. That he held on to a powerful invisibility cloak for a decade only to give it back only after it true owner was going to be spending a majority of the next seven years close to where it was being kept... Well it spoke that he might be a little enamored with that legend.

But then again, that Potter heirloom wasn't what it appeared to be. Harry smiled as he drew the hood of the cloak over his head and moved off into the shadows, disappearing from sight. He started laying down spells with a delayed trigger. He didn't plan on offering anything but death to the followers of Voldemort.

A short wait later, approximately two dozen soft pops preceded the entry of an attack force of Death Eaters. Harry grinned darkly as he muttered the word to release the hell he had prepared for them and then stepped behind a tree to avoid any attempts at blind retaliation. Pillars of fire, small explosions, powerful arc cutters, and lances of force burst from the ground, causing absolute chaos. Among the other activating spells however were wards to prevent the use of apparation and portkeys.

When he peaked back around his cover, he saw that there were only three standing Death Eaters, and one of them was cursing insanely at her fellows.

Harry hissed out one word preceding the spell he sent at the woman's head, "Bellatrix! _Expulso_!"

He was rewarded with gruesome sight of her skull exploding like a rotten melon. Deciding not to waste any more time, he launched a ribbon cutter at the remain two, who were stupid enough to be have moved closer together.

Harry went back to waiting, wondering just how quick a response the Aurors would have. Not two minutes after the carnage had ended a platoon of thirty Aurors, with Madam Bones at their head, made their way through the gates and stopped dead at the sight of his handiwork.

Harry called out at the shocked group, "I thought my message was quite clear on the fact that they were here for your life Madam Bones."

"Well Mr. Potter, you should know more than anyone else you age that the best leaders direct from the front."

Harry audibly brought his palm to his forehead. He loved Hedwig, really he did, but she was just too damn distinctive. The Aurors were starting to move among the dead and wounded Death Eaters, "I really need to think about applying glamor charms to my owl."

"That might be wise Mr. Potter. Though my niece has mentioned about how how beautiful she is. I have to agree with her. Care to explain how you found about the attack?"

"Thank you and family scrying spells. I happened upon this group of jokers minutes before they set out. I had enough time to get here and send Hedwig to warn you. You might want to hurry, I doubt anyone here, myself included, is up to going toe to toe with Riddle this night."

"That begs two questions. Just why are you breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and just who is Riddle?"

"I stopped being underage the moment I put my Head of House ring on my finger and Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord 'My-Name-Is-An-Anagram-That-Means-Flight-From-Death', that is who."

Silence followed that statement for a few moments before the Head of the DMLE said, "Oh. Thank you for your help Mr. Potter. Would you mind coming out where we can see you?"

"Promise not to arrest me for fighting terrorists?"

"Agreed."

He drew back his hood and made his way out of the trees. Madam Bones was looking in the general direction his voice had been coming from, and spun quickly when his voice came from behind her, "Looking for me?"

"Any chance of you informing us of any more information concerning Death Eater raids that you... stumble across?"

"Of course, though it is a matter of how much of a warning I can give. I will not be scrying known Death Eaters twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I stopped getting the Daily Prophet when they were slandering my name during every edition, has Fudge been outed yet for gross incompetence?"

"Yesterday. That cloak of yours makes a bit of a statement. It's even blacker than the ones the Death Eater's wear."

"The Shadowcloak can be no other color. Is there anything else you need, ma'am?"

"No, though I think we should get a statement from you."

Harry gave a terse rundown of what he had heard, and then done, before saying, "I'll be sending a letter to the Daily Prophet noting my support of you for Minister. If Riddle seems so adamant to make sure you don't get the post, I want to make sure you do."

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or worried."

"Both at the same time would probably work best. Give your niece my best."

He started taking a few steps backward as she said, "Of course...", and she was only halfway done before he vanished into a ripple in the air.

_Flashback, End_

* * *

Harry had then moved to Hermione's and thrown up a quick spell that would cause any of the Weasleys' owls to be redirected first to Harry. He needed to make time to have a conversation with his only friend, but hopefully he would have time in the next couple of days. He had then swung back to Privet Drive to pick up his things, before he stayed the night at the Leaky Cauldron. At trip to Gringotts and two hours of wading through bureaucracy later with a further three hours of going over things with the Potter Accounts Manager, Harry was in control of his financial future, and also in possession of muggle IDs that said he was eighteen years of age.

He was upset that Dumbledore had been making the maximum possible yearly withdrawals he could as Harry's 'magical guardian', though it didn't surprise considering the pattern of behavior he had noticed in the old man. He had known for longer than Harry had been alive that (if he put as much faith in the prophecy as he apparently did) the young Potter would be the one to defeat Riddle, and yet rather than give him any extra preparation of any kind, Dumbledore had; one, willfully kept Harry ignorant of the wizarding society; two, placed him with people he **knew** would mistreat him; and three, with the exception of the cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts post, he had at least three people on staff that should not have been teaching. Snape gave no instruction, he merely put potions recipes up on the board and commanded them made. Binns had been putting students to sleep for more than a century. And Hagrid; for as much as Harry loved the loyal, kind man; trotted out a class three magical creature for the first lesson! Any sane teacher would have presented the class with a crup or a kneazle.

Harry had known he wouldn't be getting a place to stay out of the fact that he was now in control of his finances, mainly due to the fact that the Potters tended to be such a small family that they had no need an Ancestral Manor, and since their family magics included some of the most powerful wards in existence, they had no need to remain anchored to one house. The fact that the property at Godric's Hollow had been turned into a national monument was a tad upsetting, he'd have to petition the Wizengamot for the return of his property at such a time that it actually mattered. He did, however, convert enough galleons to pounds that he could base himself out of a five star hotel for the remainder of the summer and have plenty of left over. Which, as it turned out, was actually a rather obscene amount of money.

His next stop had been the Ministry of Magic, specifically the Wizarding Examinations Authority, to schedule a second battery of O.W.L.s. Thankfully there was a provision for retaking all of them with the annulment of the first set of scores if retaken before being informed of the original results. That had also taken more time to wade through more bureaucracy, and he had eventually gotten them scheduled to take all twelve exams to start on Monday the twenty-fourth and run for the next six days, taking two tests a day.

Given that it was a Saturday, and he had been absolutely knackered from what he had already done today, he put off trying to meet with Hermione until tomorrow, and instead went off into the non-magical world to seek lodgings. He'd hit, what he would later remark as the best bed he had ever slept in, the bed of the suite he had gotten at the Ritz Hotel. He'd paid for the room for a week, and avoided questions of why he was paying in cash with a careful Question-Me-Not charm wrapped around his person.

The next day, around noon, he had paid that visit to Hermione.

* * *

_Flashback, Begin_

At a little after noon, he stepped through the ripple in the air, into the strand of trees in Oxford, not far from where Hermione and her parents lived. The Shadowcloak was once more wrapped around him, with the hood thrown back, he was wearing black slacks now and a bright green shirt, as he took the walk toward his friend's home. The chief issue with the aforementioned magical artifact was that it needed to be in contact with the person it was keyed to for several hours a day or it would revert to its simple 'invisibility cloak' form. And the think was a bloody pain in the ass to wake up from that state.

As he went down the walk, he twitched his wand under his cloak, casting a charm to reveal to him how many people were in the building and it came back one teenaged witch, one adult non-magical male, and one adult... squib ('Need to figure out a new word for that, squib sounds so very crude') female?

That was unexpected.

Shrugging it off to be dealt with later, he rung the door bell. A minute or so later and the door was answered by a man of medium height, strong features, sandy brown hair, and brown eyes. The man gave Harry an appraising look.

Harry spoke first, "Good afternoon Mr. Granger, my name is Harry. If she is available, I'd like to speak to Hermione please. It is fairly urgent."

The man cocked a single eyebrow and asked, "Harry as in Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry could almost see the gears grinding away in the man's head. What the thoughts were are the ground away he didn't have a bloody clue, but they were going.

"Come wait inside, I'll see if she is busy."

As Harry entered the comfortable decorated and furnished foyer, he pushed his cloak back so that it was gathered behind him, and Mr. Granger went up the stairs to the first floor. Harry spent a few minutes looking around, humming to himself, before he heard two people coming down the stairs.

Turning and seeing his best friend, he gave the ghost of a smile before he suddenly found himself enveloped in a bushy haired hug.

"Harry! Dad said you had something urgent to talk about what is it? Why didn't you send me a letter telling me you would be visiting? I thought the Order would be keeping you under guard, how'd you get here? Are your relatives treating you..."

Harry chuckled, feeling the weight of Sirius's death on his heart lift a little and said, "Hermione, calm down, take a breath, and ask one question at a time."

She pulled back from him, huffed, and looked at her best friend with narrowed eyes before she spoke, "I think I'll start with two anyway, how are you and why are you here?"

"Grieving, it still hurts to think about him. And as for my business here, like your father mentioned to you, and you repeated in your initial burst of questions, I have something fairly urgent I need to talk to you about, and since it is a little on the unbelievable side, I need to preface it with something," he pulled his white wand from the hip holster he kept it in and intoned, "_I, Harry James Potter, do hereby swear by my magic that everything I say to Hermione Jean Granger and her family for the next ten minutes is the truth as I am aware of it, so mote it be._"

The wand flashed with a soft golden light as the oath took hold.

"Harry you shouldn't..."

"Hermione, Mrs. Weasley is going to be sending you food laced with love potion attuned to Ron, and he is complicate in the plot to do it."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut with an audible click, and one the edge of Harry's vision, he saw her father's eyes narrow. Harry turned to his face toward the man and said, "While not exactly like they sound, love potions produce overwhelming infatuation, obsession, and sometimes lust directed at the one they are key to," He turned back to Hermione and continued, "Mrs. Weasley is planning on dosing me with love potions attuned to Ginny, and though she is little more than tool in the plot, Dumbledore is involved in getting me smitten with the youngest Weasley."

"But Harry, the Headmaster would never..."

"He is not perfect, Hermione. I have recently come to believe that he does not have my best interests at heart with whatever it is he is plotting for my future. I haven't the foggiest what he is plotting, but I doubt I'll survive it if I continue as I have."

Harry heard Mr. Granger snort, and the man said, "A little young to be talking about being in mortal danger, aren't you?"

Harry turned back to the man, cocked an eyebrow and said, "A mass murdering, psychotic bigot with delusions of immortality tried to murder me at the tender age of fifteen months shortly after he killed my parents. The better part of the next decade I spent with relatives who were distinctly displeased with me ending up in their care. Then in my first year at Hogwarts that same bigot made three more separate direct attempts on my life, along with one indirect attempt."

"Touche."

Harry turned once more back to Hermione and asked, "How what are the chances that I could persuade you and your parents to flee England?"

The only answer she deigned to give the raven haired wizard was a glare.

"I thought as much. Couldn't hurt to ask though..." He had second thoughts on that comment as soon as it came out of his mouth, as the look on her face promised him pain at the earliest opportunity. "I could be wrong though. But if you won't get out of harms way, I am going to be contracting, and paying for, the most viscous set of wards I can get the goblins to erect around your home."

"Harry you don't need to..."

"Hermione, I found out recently that even with Dumbledore stealing the better part of two thousand Galleons a year from me, he was never able to touch the principle of my family's accounts. I am bloody rich, and you are not going to keep me from making sure you are safe at home," Harry directed the next at Mr. Granger, "That is of course with your permission, sir."

She huffed again, and Mr. Granger looked thoughtful. And then a woman of average height with bushy brown hair, dark eyes, and features that echoed Hermione's (or rather were echoed by Hermione's) came into the room saying, "Richard, who was at the... Hello."

"Hello, Mrs. Granger. My name is Harry."

"Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There were a few moments of silence, accompanied by the requisite sizing up of the best male friend of her daughter by Mrs. Granger, before Hermione said, "How about I make some introductions?"

Mrs. Granger smiled and replied, "That is a wonderful idea sweetie."

"Mom, Dad, I'd like you both to meet my best friend, Harry Potter. Harry, this is my mother, Lenore Granger and my father, Richard Granger."

Harry gave a short bow and said, "It is a pleasure to meet both of you. Your daughter is a magnificent person and is far more intelligent than I am."

Lenore smiled and said, trailing off toward the end, "Well our daughter writes about you often in her letters home. The description she gave of you..."

"I lead a cursed life. If you mean about what she said about my usual attire, I finally figured out I could transfigure my cousin's castoffs so that they no longer look like something homeless people would refuse to wear."

A look of vague understanding crossed the woman's face as she nodded.

Richard then asked, "So what are you and your family's plans for the summer Harry?"

"I have a great many things I need to get done this summer. As for the Dursleys," he ground out a good measure of content, "I don't know what they have planned nor do I care. I was emancipated several days ago, and am well shut of them."

This killed all conversation for a few moments, before Hermione ventured the comment, "What I find really interesting is that you can comfortably say all this when you could lose your magic if you lie."

"Yes, Hermione, but I believe every word I speak to be the absolute truth, and thus my magic is not in peril."

She gave him a calculating stare and asked, "Have I ever asked you why you are in Gryffindor?"

"Nope. And the reason I am there is because when the Hat said it wanted to put me into Slytherin I told it not to. The only things I was concerned with were that Ron and Hagrid had said that all Slytherins were Dark Wizards, though now am fairly certain with was that Ron was doing that on Dumbledore's orders and that Hagrid, so much that I respect and care for the man, is a bit simple, and the fact that Draco had been sorted into the House."

Hermione got a sly look on her face as she said, "And if we were to be resorted at the beginning of the next year?"

"I'd tell the Hat that no real Slytherin would be caught dead in a House where they consider cunning to equate to backstabbing. Now, I've wasted more than enough of you time, so thank you for putting up with me. Now, I bid you all good day..."

Hermione squeaked in one last question as Harry made for the door, "Just what is it you are up to, Harry?"

"A little bit of this, a dash of that. I have let Dumbledore lead me around by the nose for far too long."

She nodded, understanding why he could say that, and he continued, "It is high time that I take control of my life. Have a good summer Hermione, I'll write, but try to avoid bringing it to the Weasleys' attention that you or I know about the crap they are trying to pull."

Hermione couldn't help wonder how her friend has seemingly changed so much, though she waved at him as she stepped through the door to see him off, though she simply stared as the air in front of him rippled and he walked through it, disappearing from sight.

And then it dawned on her that she had been kept far enough off balance that she hadn't gotten the chance to ask all the questions that were now popping into her mind.

_Flashback, End_

* * *

Harry chuckled at the memory of that. He had sent her a letter the next explaining just why he thought it would be funny to pull that joke while he had told her the things he needed to talk to her face to face about, and Hedwig had returned with a letter that was less a letter and more a list of questions she was demanding answers to.

He had been a most dutiful friend and answered all the questions that he could. And though they started to have something that remotely resembled a normal post exchange,

His retakes of the O.W.L.s had actually gone rather smoothly, and considering he studied nightly with his grandparents. He was told that his results would go out with the rest of the notifications for his year and that he should get them no later than the second Saturday in July.

He had then taken the time in between finishing the tests and when he would get the results to prepare a ritual that would allow him to complete business that his grandparents wanted him to do in Glastonbury with a minimum of... troublesome side effects. He had also managed to get the Grangers to agree to letting him have their house warded, and scheduled the goblins to raise the wards on Monday the fourteenth.

Harry rubbed at the headache that formed when he thought of that ritual he had done back in the beginning of July. He had holed himself up in a suite in a Marriott hotel outside of London, and he'd had to buy a multi-compartment trunk where the largest of the expanded spaces was the size of a two car garage so that housekeeping wouldn't stumble upon what he was doing.

It would eventually wear off after a year, give or take a month or two, and if he wasn't in a better position by then, he would deserve the hell that would be raised.

He'd eventually gotten his O.W.L. Results and had been quite proud with his eight Exceeds Expectations, two Outstandings (D.A.D.A. and Potions), and two Acceptables (Divination and History of Magic). Of course Hermione had been miffed that he had gotten more O.W.L.s than him even if he had pointed out that she had gotten ten Outstandings. She had said she didn't feel like she had done all that well on her practical for Defense, but then again she said the same thing for various bits and pieces of all her other tests... For the past five years.

Harry bounced a badge up and down on the palm of his hand. He had been spying on Ron when the little spy had gotten his own test results. He had cackled with a near insane glee when Mrs. Weasley had torn into him for only getting four of O.W.L.s, and how she had berated him for barely doing better than each of the twins. And the fact that he only got Acceptables! Which tended to be misleading because, when taken as the single entity they tended to act as, Fred and George had gotten six Outstanding O.W.L.s in Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures.

Makes a person think doesn't it?

After getting his results he had spent the rest of the month alternatively working his way through finishing his task in Glastonbury and passing on information about Death Eater movements to the new Minister of Magic Amelia Bones, who had suggested Harry renew his subscription to that particular newspaper. What really threw Harry for a loop was when she had the Sunday Prophet on the twenty-first publish a report the Department of Mysteries had done on the Dark Mark.

They had called it a vile bit of magic that had to be taken willingly, and that it acted as a permanent bond to 'You-Know-Who'. Further more it was stated that a prospective Death Eater had to commit a murder in order to be able to receive the brand. Harry had followed that article up with a letter to the editor stating that Severus Snape, Potions Master, Professor, and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts was a marked Death Eater. Of course, they didn't hear it from him. Three days later there came an article that was essentially a laundry list of the ill deeds, wrong doings, and misbehavior of one Severus Tobias Snape.

Harry had cackled in glee days later, on a Saturday he had already been enjoying quite well, when the evening paper reported a massive outcry from the parents of Hogwarts students calling for the man's immediate sacking. Oh how he did enjoy employing more indirect methods of attack. He didn't continue to speak parseltongue long after the magic Riddle had left in his scar was gone without a valid reason. And he had gotten an absolutely marvelous birthday present when the Board of Governors had sacked Snape of the thirty-first.

From his newly hire position as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. That caused Harry to laugh for so long and hard that he had almost tossed his cookies.

On August first, the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black had been read.

* * *

_Flashback, Begin_

All of those who would receive various bequests from the will had been called to Gringotts for the reading. They were all seated at various positions around a conference table in some manner of meeting room, and the décor was quite sumptuous. Among those present were Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, who were apparently taking turns glaring menacingly at Harry. Remus was sitting not to far from Harry, and the last loyal Marauder looked more than a little down. Harry however, was unsure of how loyal the man was to Dumbledore, given how much the old man had done for the werewolf over the years. Tonks was there, sitting by an older man and woman who were probably her parents. A good chunk of the Weasleys were present, excepting Percy, Bill, and Charlie. Dumbledore had tried to usher Harry out of the proceedings as soon as the Headmaster arrived, and the only response Harry had given the man had been to show the man the Potter Head of House ring.

Which just happened to be located on his left middle finger that day.

A letter to Harry from Sirius had been sent alongside the notice of the will reading. It didn't say much, commenting only that there were things that the old dog couldn't tell him, and that he should keep his eyes and ears open during the will reading.

A rather ancient looking goblin entered the room and mounted a podium at one end of the table made it so that he was standing above eye level of most of those present when they were seated.

"I am Ripclaw, Manager of the Black Accounts, and on this day the first of August, Nineteen-Ninety-One, the will of one Sirius Orion Black shall be read."

The goblin then laid out a parchment in front of him and tapped it with one of his long fingers. Sirius's voice filled the room.

"_I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound mind (stop laughing Moony, I am of sound mind!) and body, hereby declare this to be my last will and testament, revoking all all prior wills and codicils._

"_Now with that out of the way it is time to hand out the prizes... err, bequests._

"_First to my loving Cousins Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, I hereby give you notice that I banished you from the House of Black as soon as I had gotten my hands on owl, parchment, and ink after I had escaped from Azkaban. In addition you are both to receive a boot to the head._ (At the mention of this a large size twelve boot had materialized out of thin and and struck the Lady Malfoy in the head)

"_Now, moving on to Narcissa's son Draco Malfoy, you were also banished from the House of Black at my earliest convenience. And you are also to receive one boot to the head. _(The yelp of pain as the ferret got a boot to the noggin would warm Harry's heart for a few months)

"_Next on my shit list is Ronald Weasley. You know what you've done, but don't worry you won't get a boot to the head, though Draco is getting another _(Harry could barely retain his laughter as the Malfoy Heir was kicked when he was down)_, but rather a rabid Tasmanian devil to be placed in your trousers._ (Harry couldn't believe that Sirius was taking a page of The Frantics books, especially considering it had come out while the man had been in prison, though he did finally laugh out loud as a viscious beast appeared from no where into Ronald's pants, and the red head ran from the room screaming)

"_Sadly, I must next move on one Remus Lupin, otherwise known as Moony. You have failed as a Marauder, placing loyalty in Dumbledore to the detriment of your family in all but blood, I hereby cast you from the Marauders forthwith. It is out of years of friendship that you are not getting a boot to the head, but Draco gets one more. _(Harry vaguely wondered whether Malfoy had a concussion yet as his mother started to drag him from the room, though he was no longer bothering to hold in his laughter.)

"_To Molly Weasley I say that you should be thrown into Azkaban for what you are planning, but I cannot accomplish that so I leave you with a curse a boot to the head. And one more for the road for Draco!_ (Harry was silently sending his thanks to his godfather for this entertaining afternoon as the woman left in a huff, clutching her head to go check on her youngest son)

"_Last, but most certainly not least on the list of people I wish ill but can only move against after I have become worm food, is one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (did your parents hate you or something?). To you I leave a warning. Meddle in the affairs of Potters at great risk to your health and sanity. Oh, and another rabid Tasmanian devil to be placed in your robes, because I know a poofter such as yourself almost never wears trousers. _(Harry was no longer even sitting in his chair, but rather rolling on the ground clutching his sides in laughter, as Dumbledore moved to exit the room and then the bank, knowing better than to cast magic inside Gringotts)

"_Now if all has gone according to plan, the only people present should be Hermione Granger, Nymphadora, Andromeda, and Ted Tonks, Arthur, Ginerva, Fred, and George Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Harry Potter, who if I know his sense of humor is currently catching his breath from the floor show I have just put on while the rest of you could only stare in confusion. Plebeians the lot of you!_

"_Remus, you are no longer welcome at this reading, leave now._

After the former Marauder had left the room, the goblin restarted the recording.

"_Now, for the happier bequests._

"_To each of the Weasleys present I leave ten thousand Galleons. You are not guilty of the crimes that the two no longer present have committed or will commit, and the four of you have always done the best by Harry, so you have my thanks for what it is worth._

"_To my darling cousin Andromeda, I have already reinstated you into the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and a proper dowry of ten thousand Galleons will be paid. I also leave you an additional ten thousand Galleons._

"_To Dora, I say, that by reinstating your mother, I make you a daughter of the House of Black, ten thousand Galleons shall be set aside as a dowry for you in addition to another ten thousand for you to have now. I also leave you a bit of advice, don't chase the wolf. He was a good friend at one time, but there is far too much guilt in him to be able function in a relationship._

"_To Hermione, I leave twenty thousand Galleons for always being my godson's friend, along copies of many of the less Dark books from the Black Library. To you go thanks that can never really be articulated._

"_The rest of my estate goes to my godson and heir, Harry Potter. If you haven't already emancipated yourself by now, I hereby do that. It is your choice about whether or not you are to take up the headship of the House of Black, or wait and hope that Dora finds a man and has a son. If you do, make sure you get a goblin solicitor to explain the marriage laws in place for Heads of multiple houses. Especially when you are the last male member of those Houses._

"_I will end this document with just one more thing to say. So long and thanks for all the fish."_

_Flashback, End_

* * *

Harry scowled as the train hit a bump, and he muttered distractedly as he continued to stare at the sky. He was fairly certain that shortly after he had arrived at Grimmauld Place last summer and when Sirius had brought Harry up to date on the doings of the Order, that Sirius had said too much and Dumbledore had come up with some way of preventing him from telling Harry anything. If Harry had not known what he did, he could take the several obvious clues the will had given him and put them to good use.

He'd gone over the Black Accounts the next day, and then taken over the wards of Grimmauld Place. He brought the Fidelius down, and sealed the house up tight. He'd set up a few provisions and contingencies into place before he ordered Kreacher to never leave the building while working on doing some actual cleaning, though there were a bunch of things he told the elf to never touch.

And then he had gotten his Hogwarts letter and book list had arrived that evening. Not only had he gotten the Prefect badge that Ron had lost for failing the vast majority of his O.W.L.s, he'd also been awarded the Captaincy of the Gryffindor, and that his broom was waiting for him when he returned to Hogwarts. He'd weighed his options for a little while before sending the Captain's badge back say, 'That while I do enjoy playing Quidditch, it is really an excuse to do one of the things I love, fly. Taking the Captaincy of the House team would take much of the joy I get out of playing Seeker, and so I must decline. Though I most certainly return to playing Seeker if the Team will have me.'

Professor McGonagall had replied with a letter that practically begged him to take the Badge because Katie Bell had already turned it down at the end of the last term, stating that she had to prepare for her N.E.W.T.s and that the rest of the players from the previous season were unacceptable as Captain. He had replied with all of one line, 'I can always fly on my free time.'

The Deputy Headmistress had stopped trying to coerce Harry into taking up the Captaincy, though he felt that she was planning... something. He had a bad feeling about whatever it was. Which reminded him, he had a patrol to do.

* * *

He whistled a jaunty tune as he walked away from a compartment near the front of the train where he had just made a handful of rather interesting threats to get a fourth year Slytherin to leave some soon to be first years alone. The ignorant snake needed to have be forcefully made to recognize that there was a Prefect badge attached to Harry's belt. And he thought back to how his August had been...

While not as intense as the first month and a half of his break, he continued studying and training under his grandparents. Where before they had averaged a little under two hours a day, they now worked for upwards of eight to twelve. On top of that they had him start a physical fitness regimen that made the routines Wood had put them through when the maniac had been Captain look tame in comparison.

In fact he was still sore, and was on orders to continue it during the school year. Though he had the wonderful form of stress relief in the act of torching three or four Death Eater safe houses. He could have burned more, but he wanted to keep the ones where they consistently held pre-raid meetings intact so he could scry for what the idiots were planning.

He heard a very familiar voice yell out, "Harry," and turned to Hermione coming toward him with a none too pleased look on her face.

"Harry James Potter," 'Oh shit, she's using my full name, she is definitely angry with me,' "where in Merlin's name have you been? Do you know how awful Ronald has been since he has both lost his Prefect badge and you have been nowhere to be found? He has been trying to get me to eat something his mother made, and I am a hair's breadth from turning him into a rutabaga. Which reminds me," her hand darted out to grab a hold of his ear, which she then violently twisted, and her tone developed a sickly sweet quality as he yelped out in pain, "Why didn't you tell me you had been made Prefect? You meet me and my parents outside of the platform and then disappear, you then show back up at the Prefects meeting with the badge on your belt to the announcement that Ronald has been removed as Prefect due to his piss poor O.W.L. results and that you are replacing him as the sixth year Gryffindor Prefect!"

Harry paled, and muttered, "Is there any particular order you would like those answered in?"

She gave another sharp tug on his ear, glared at him, and started pulling him toward the last compartment on the left of last car, while saying, "In order, and after you deal with Ronald."

Harry snorted ruefully as he remember back to the conversation he had with Hermione and her parents, and then the one he had had with just her parents.

* * *

_Flashback, Begin_

At roughly quarter past ten, Harry walked up behind the group of three people who were heading toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten of King's Cross Station. He smiled warmly as he greeted them once he was close enough, "Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione."

He suddenly found himself with his best friend doing the best to squeeze the air out of his lungs with one of her patented hugs. They had talked about a few things, before Harry had made his way onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, though he took a quick step through one of his dimensional doors to get back into King's Cross proper. And, after seeing Hermione enter the Platform, he walk up behind the two adults.

"I have something of grave importance that I need to speak with you about."

Lenore jumped about a half a foot into the air and Richard let out a scream that sounded vaguely reminiscent of one that would come from a little girl.

"Well at least I now know where Hermione learned to scream in terror."

Hermione's father gave Harry a flat look and asked, "How'd you sneak up on us?"

Rolling his eyes Harry replied rather simply, "Magic. Now here," he threw them a pair of simple pendants on chains, "take these. They are emergency portkeys. If you say 'activate, Padfoot's Doghouse' they'll take you someplace safe. They'll be able to punch through most wards that would normally prevent portkey travel. I'll be getting one to Hermione sooner rather than later.

"Now can I assume that Hermione has kept you apprised of what is going on in our society?"

Richard scoffed and said, "That the insane bigot you mentioned in passing is back after having been mostly dead for more than a decade and has started a second reign of terror?"

"Exactly. Now at the place that you'll travel to, there will be a briefcase and a length of rope. The rope is an international portkey that will take you to the States. In the briefcase is about one hundred thousand American dollars and a file folder. If you will note on the portkeys I gave you the little white gem? If that turns black, the portkey will vibrate, and that will mean I am dead. You are to activate the portkeys as soon as possible. The one I am going to give to Hermione is going to be keyed to activate on my death. The three of you are to take the portkey to the States and get the file folder to the Department of Magic. In the highly unlikely event Hermione forgets the reason you are to do that, you are to remind her that the Yanks know what it is to fight against a prophecy."

Lenore looked at the pendant for a moment before she said, "Being a little fatalistic aren't you Harry?"

The Boy-Who-Lived scoffed and replied, "I can no longer count the number of times people have tried to kill me on my fingers. I'm allowed. Now I have a train to catch. Good day, sir, ma'am."

_Flashback, End_

* * *

Shaking his head, and wincing as his ear did not move from Hermione's grasp, Harry asked, "So what has Ronald be trying to get you to eat?"

"Muffins, and Ginny has a few that she said her mother made for you..."

"Hermione, Ginny is just as much a victim of Dumbledore and her mother's plot to get us together as I am, if not more so. I could explain, but I want to talk to Ginny first about some of the things I've found out."

"If you say so Harry..."

"Oh yeah, before I forget," he dug around in the one of his pants pockets and pulled out a pendant, "I got you an emergency portkey. It should be able to take you through or around most anti-portkey wards. Activation phrase is, 'activate, Padfoot's Doghouse'. I doubt you need any guesses to figure out where it'll take you. I gave one to each of your parents and theirs are keyed to active when you trigger yours if it is currently touching their skin, or the next time it does so. I'll explain the rest in private later... Now can you let go of my ear?"

"Depends, are you going to come quietly?"

"Yes'm."

Smiling serenely, she released his ear just as they came to the door to the last compartment on the left.

Rolling his eyes, he swung the door of the compartment open and said, "Ronald, if you are so keen on getting someone to eat one of those muffins, why don't you give one to your sister?"

Ron, who had been sulking in a seat by the window paled, and moved his box of muffins as far as he could from his little sister.

"I thought so. Take your trunk and find somewhere else Ronald, before I feel obliged to duel you."

"Harry..." the red-head began before his eyes locked on the badge on Harry's belt and narrowed, his face contorted into a sneer worth of a Malfoy, and he hissed, "You bastard, that's my badge!"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and retorted coldly, "Was your badge. You failed to maintain sufficient grades to be trusted with a position of responsibility. Now get the hell out of the compartment before I have to hurt you. And you know that I can hand your ass to you in a fight."

Deciding the cowardice would be more acceptable than having to end up in the hospital wing, Ron took his trunk from the storage rack and fled from the compartment.

Harry took a seat, leaned back and asked, "So how was everyone's summer?"

* * *

**A/N2: Bit of a lame ending, but I was running out of steam on this story. It really seems to me to be the poor child of these three 'siblings'.  
**


	3. By Sunlight, By Moonlight, By Starlight

**A/N: As always, I would like to offer my deep thanks to everyone who takes the time to review my stories.**

**My last offering of this set of three, sets the stage for a story that doesn't really begin until sometime during what would normally be Harry's third year. I'm a bit iffy on the title of this one as well, taking suggestions.**

**I don't own Harry Potter, and nor will I ever be deluded enough to think that I do.  
**

* * *

Landstradd's First Chapters/Prologues

Story Three: By Sunlight, By Moonlight, By Starlight (working title)

Prologue: Carefully Laid Plans Set Into Action

A man in his early twenties walked down the snow covered streets toward Privet Drive under the light of the full moon. It had been a week or two short of three months since Albus Dumbledore had tried to finish the destruction of the closest thing he had to a family. Even if it was not the man's intent to do that, it was nearly the result of what he had done.

Lily and James had been murdered in the defense of the son. Harry, their eldest child, had become a target for most dangerous Dark Lord since Grindelwald had torn apart Europe. He had received the recording crystals from the ruins of Godric's Hollow himself and grimly watched James battle Voldemort on ground he had carefully prepared and maintained. He had lasted all of two minutes.

Considering James had only ever been truly skilled at transfiguration and his power hovered somewhere around the eighty-seventh percentile, that was actually quite remarkable. Lily had rushed through the a ritual that she and himself had painstakingly researched and prepared, just in case the worst would come to pass.

She'd finished the complex part, yet infinitely easier, just as Voldemort was making his way toward them after having finished James. Next came the hard yet simple part. She had died without fighting, sacrificing herself for her son. The requirements had been fulfilled, both parents had died by magical violence, one fighting, one peacefully, both by the same hand. When that hand had turned against their child, the magics meant to harm Harry had instead rebounded upon Voldemort, the power of the Killing Curse he had used increased a thousand fold.

He had seen a few surges of energy that needed to be investigated, but that would be something for later. When he had custody of his wards, and they were far from the plotting of the Headmaster.

Then Sirius had to go off half cocked and try and kill Peter. Padfoot had never been the most controlled member of the Marauders, but goddamn it. No one was going to believe it when a werewolf said that the Potters had switched Secret Keepers at the last moment. And so Sirius Orion Black had blown up Peter and a street full of mundane men and women in his rage, with the result of landing himself in the maximum security wing of Azkaban, never having even had a trial. And Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had allowed it.

Further more, under the mistaken belief that the magics that had protected Harry were blood based and sustained, the aforementioned meddling old man had placed Harry with the last people his parents had wanted to end up with custody of him. He believed so strongly in the innate goodness of people that he believed simply because they were related that they would become family.

And little Ginny. Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that it would be best if Harry was thought to be the last Potter. So three month old Ginevra Lily Potter had been given to a family that had six other children, and her name had been changed to Ginevra Molly Weasley. Getting her back would be easy anyway, the Weasleys had paper thin wards, and both parents were crap duelists.

He had been close to finally gaining control of his transformations when Halloween and its tragedy had rolled around. He had hollowed out, emotionally dead for a few days. He had then gone to the headmaster and asked where the children were. Dumbledore said that the children he, Remus Lupin, was supposed to have care of were 'safe' and that he need not worry about them, sliding in a few subtle barbs that he, as a werewolf, would not be able to care for them any way, no matter what the Potter wills said.

Which was one of the items of the ever growing list of problems he had with the Headmaster. He had sealed the Ministry held copies of the wills of James and Lily Potter. The copy that Sirius had kept in his flat had been 'accidentally' destroyed when it had been raided following his arrest. That left only the Gringotts copy, and Albus most like believed, mistakenly, that Sirius was the executor of the estate. Just like he had probably believed that the Marauders had stopped trusting him when rumor started spreading that all the werewolves in England had flocked to Voldemort's banner. He had also made over two dozen attempts to gain access to the Potter Vaults under the guise of being appointed Harry's 'magical guardian'. Thankfully the Gringotts held copies of all wills are executed internally immediately following the death of the writer. They had also repossessed James's invisibility cloak for him. He had no clue how Dumbledore had gotten his hands on that particular heirloom, the only people that James had ever let anyone use it were Lily and the Marauders, and the later were only allowed that after they had been friends for six years, and Lily hadn't known about the cloak until midway through seventh year.

The purebloods loved their laws to keep those they viewed as beneath where they belonged, but what they loved even more were the loopholes that allowed them to continue to do whatever they hell they wanted. And James had worded every last thing in his and Lily's wills perfectly, citing chapter and verse of the countless laws on the books that would allow their children to go to exactly who intended, bigots be damned. They had laid out other plans. Just because both Lily and James had been Gryffindors didn't mean that they were completely without cunning.

But he could not allow himself to take custody of two of the only people he still had left when he could be a potential danger to them. So he had brought his attention back to calming and accepting the beast within him in the manner that Animagi gain control of their transformation. Why no one had tried anything some simplistic had always eluded him. It had been years of mental and emotional wrestling with his inner animal, but he had been inching closer. But he had been set back by the emotional upheaval, and it had cost him precious months, but he had finally done it. He was for all intents and purposes a wolf Animagus who was more deeply connected with his inner animal the average.

He stared up at the full moon with human eyes for the first time in years. He was going to be getting his cubs back. He reached into the pockets of his thin coat pulling out a rune carved stone of left hand side and a thin pair of wire rim spectacles out of the right. The stone was roughly triangular in shape fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. As he took the corner onto Privet Drive, he brushed one of the larger runes located by one of the corners of the stone.

Sympathetic combined with symbolic casting. It had taken days of work to get the arrays on all of the power transformers in Little Whinging, but it had been more than worth it. Now with a simple touch and a spark of magic, the entire town lost power. Remus grinned broadly. The only reason that Lily had gotten the top spot in their year uncontested was due not to the fact no one could match her prodigious intellect, but rather because the only one who could had to drag three reprobates kicking and screaming through exams every year. Even when Sirius and James had manned up for OWLs and NEWTs, he had still been run ragged and exhausted by the time the exams had taken place. He had been lucky that he stayed awake long enough to make the straight Exceeds Expectations that he had gotten.

Moving toward Number Four, putting the glasses on his face, glasses which brought magic into the visible spectrum. He scrutinized the ramshackle wards surrounding the Dursley's home one last time, absolutely despising Dumbledore for having thought that the Blood protections he was ready to believe in would appear out of thin air. The wards weren't even proper protections, they were a legion of monitoring spells that were probably hooked up to countless little delicate devices in the man's office. A simple press of a larger rune in one of the other corners of the stone in his hand caused a prepared loop in the wards reporting functions that would leave the old man clueless to what was going to happen here.

See the wards react as he had expected them to, he slipped the spectacles off, and crossed the street toward the house, pressing the last large rune on the stone before tossing it away. A simple sleeping spell would keep all present in the house at its casting in a deep, dreamless sleep until the rising of the sun.

Pulling his wand as he walked up the path to the door he cast a pair of charms directed at the front door and a human revealing charm directed at the house in general. The front door unlocked and swung open of its seemingly own accord, while the last charm told him that three non-magicals, one male child, one male adult, and one female adult, were on the first floor, and one wizard child was on the ground floor. Checking all of the rooms one the ground floor, Remus could not find the one he was looking for, so he then checked the coat closet and finally the cupboard under the stairs.

There, in the dark space under the stairs, the one and a half year old was laying on a crib mattress with only a thin blanket to cover him. He sighed, this should have been the first place he had looked considering Petunia's opinion of her sister, and the fact that her husband Vernon, for the fact that Remus had only met the man once at Lily's wedding, seemed to hate magic with a passion only make Dumbledore's choice of guardians worse.

He cast a few simple diagnostic charms while he looked Harry over. Only two months and he was looking a little thinner, no injuries consistent with physical abuse, though that only meant it would probably be mental and emotional. He sighed as he scooped the young boy and carried him off. He would be retrieving Ginny in the morning, after he had left Harry with a pair of the Potter house elves who he would order to kill anyone who was him or with him.

He smiled grimly at that thought as he exited the house. Even though the elves rarely used their magic for violence didn't mean that they couldn't. If just mean that anyone and everyone was completely unprepared for it when they did.

* * *

Using the same spectacles he did the night before, he watched the wards surrounding the Burrow one last time, confirming his suspicions. He'd timed his visit so that Arthur would be on one of his rare days off from work at the Ministry. He left the glasses on as he opened the gate and took the path to the front door. Who's brilliant idea was it to make a corridor in the wards to allow people access to the front door? Remus couldn't hold a candle to James's power, being only somewhere in the sixty-second percentile, but even he could bring the wards surrounding the house down from where he stood, and it would barely take the wind out of him.

Slipping the spectacles in his pocket before he knocked the door, he thought about what he knew of this family as he waited for someone to answer. He was acquaintances with the parents, Arthur and Molly, having been a few years behind them in Hogwarts. They had six sons, the eldest of whom would be starting at Hogwarts in September of this year.

Speaking of that, a boy looking to be ten or eleven years old opened the door, and asked, "Can I help you sir?"

"My name is Remus Lupin, and I need to speak to you mother and father William."

The boy turned from the door and yelled, "Mum! Dad! There's a Mr. Lupin at the door for you!"

A minute later the tall, thin, bright red-haired frame of Arthur Weasley was ushering his eldest son away from the door, greeting the werewolf jovially, smiling, "Remus, this is an unexpected visit! Come in, come in! What can I do for you today?"

Remus wasn't going to waste time, and as he entered the Weasleys' home, told the man exactly why he had come, "I'm here to collect Ginevra Potter."

Arthur's face fell, and then quickly moved on to an expression bordering on horror, "The Headmaster never said who her parents were, just that they had been killed in the last days of the war and needed a good home..."

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the trusting and gullible man, and replied, "And he had no right what-so-ever to place Ginny anywhere. No were his actions legal when he sealed the Ministry copies of the wills of Lily and James Potter so that he could have his own way."

The Weasley patriarch's face paled at the mention of Albus Dumbledore doing wrong, and quickly said, "So I suppose it was you who was supposed to get custody of Harry and Ginny?"

"Yes I was, and I've already rescued Harry from the extremely poor choice of where Dumbledore had decided to place him."

"And just where did the Headmaster send him?"

"A place that both wills explicitly stated that neither of there children were to ever go."

Arthur nodded and said, "Molly isn't going to be happy about this..."

"And I can't find myself willing to care that she will be displeased."

"She's in the kitchen..."

As they walked into the cozy kitchen of the Burrow, Molly Weasley was bustling about, cooking something, while a bassinet sat on the table, the aforementioned little girl laying in it. Molly turned to see who was entering the kitchen and said, "Remus, what brings you around the Burrow?"

"I am here to collect my ward, Ginevra Lily Potter."

Her face was almost comically blank for a few moments before it dawned on her who Remus was talking about. She shrieked out, in a voice that while not understandable to the rest of the house, would easily be heard, "You are not taking **my** daughter! She is ours now no matter what you..."

She had started to move towards Ginny during her diatribe, but had been cut off in both movement and voice when Remus stepped in her way, ready to grab his wand if it was needed. And he spoke to her in a tone that was so cold it dripped icicles.

"She never was, and never shall be, your daughter. By the wills of Lily and James Potter I was to have the care of the children in the event that Sirius was unable to. The only reason I waited as long as I did was to ensure that I would be able to properly care for them."

As he stopped and watched the woman move her mouth back and forth like a fish out of water, he heard a child pad into the kitchen, he glanced at the approximately seven year old boy who was holding a rat in a cage before turning his attention back to Molly as the boy asked, "What's Mum yelling about, and who is she yelling at?"

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts and was about to speak, when Remus's head whipped back around to star at the caged rat, a look of predatory hunger on his face. A rat that started squeaking and running circles around his cage.

"Remus, why are you staring at my son's pet like it owes you money?"

"Because Arthur, that is no normal rat. It is an unregistered Animagus and a traitor. But it is still very much a rat."

"How do you know this Remus?"

"I went to school with the bastard. It wasn't Sirius that betrayed Lily and James, it was Peter. And the only reason I haven't spent the last two months hunting the little blighter was the fact I though Sirius had dealt with him... You do know that in addition to Ginny, I won't be leaving without the rat."

Poor little Percy was mostly puzzled by what was going on, and it seemed to him that after the man had left, the Weasleys had gotten a very raw deal, they had lost their new little sister and he had lost his new pet rat.

* * *

Remus sat in the sitting room of a home owned by the Potter family in Wales, reading the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. The Potters no longer owned any larger residences since Potter Manor, which had been located in Kent, had been damaged beyond repair when a German bomber had crashed into it during World War Two. The family had never felt the need to rebuild such a large estate, and so instead had moved into more comfortable homes.

He had first wanted to get out of England at the earliest possible convenience, but when he had found Wormtail, he had been force to choose between waiting and seeing if Sirius could be freed, or getting out of Dumbledore's reach. He could not abandon his last remaining friend to the Dementors, and so he had holed himself up with the children and a pair of house elves in one of the more heavily warded properties owned by House Potter.

He would take two months and see what would happen. Now all he could do was wait and hope.

* * *

It was a week and a half later that Remus let out a shout of joy upon reading the front page of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. He picked up Harry, who was playing on the floor with a set of blocks, and held him in the air while they spun around.

"Marvelous news cub, your Uncle Padfoot is a free man again!"

Harry giggled and said, "Moo'y, Pa'fot!"

He then carried Harry over to where one of the elves was keeping a close eye as Ginny played with some colorful, oversized plastic keys. God he loved the mundane world's baby toys. "You hear that littler cub? Padfoot's coming back!"

The red-haired baby girl giggled as well, the atmosphere in the house brightening by several degrees.

"Mopsy!" Remus called out as he set Harry back down by his blocks, "I am going to need you to take some letters to the Owl Post Office!"

* * *

Not an hour later, the front door of the House burst open with a cry of, "Honey, I'm home!"

"In the sitting room, Sirius!"

"Moony, you won't believe what that _git_ Dumbledore told me when I asked where Harry and little Gin-Gin were. He told me that," he began a mocking parody of the Headmaster's voice, "'They are perfectly fine my boy, and completely safe. Surely someone who was just released from Azkaban should not be around small children.' Right pompous bastard. Have you used the crystals Lils left to scry for them the maps yet?"

"Just get your ass in here Padfoot, if Dumbledore is trying to keep you away from the children that means he doesn't know I **took **them back yet!"

With a mad cackle, Sirius rushed into the room, saying, "That can only mean one thing, because I know you well enough to understand that you wouldn't take custody of the pups until you had your furry little problem under control! Congratulations!"

"And you figured that out all on your own? My gods Padfoot, did spending time with the Dementors improve your intelligence?"

"Not likely. So how far into which plan are you?"

"The Gringotts copies of the wills should hit the Ministry sometime during the day after tomorrow. Hopefully the goblins will send off a package with identification and papers that will arrive tomorrow, and we'll then contact Lily's cousin Lara about helping us and the kids get out of the country."

"Lara... Lara... What was here surname again? I know she sounds familiar..."

"Croft. She was third on the list of guardians. If you and I weren't available, it would mean we were dead, and quite frankly Lily didn't want to trust Peter with the kids if either of us weren't around..."

"Now the rat is a traitor, and is going to get to rot in Azkaban instead of me!"

* * *

The two Marauders and the two Potter children spent most of the next four years and some odd months living in Staten Island, New York. Remus had both of the children reading, and learning, early, while it was Sirius's job to made sure that they played. Though with Harry, the play was done in such a way that it kept him fit, and sharpened his reflexes. Water balloons, football (not that game Yanks confuse with it, but the one you actually play with your feet!), and of course the random prank here and there.

Two days after Harry's birthday, early in the morning, Remus was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into his tea. Sirius walked into the room, yawning and stretching, barely getting out an understandable, "Moony," before he reached for his morning cup of coffee.

"How the hell can you drink that sludge Padfoot? Your supposed to be English. Have a cup of tea!"

Sirius glared at his best friend and said, "This stuff is basically liquid caffeine, and I need plenty of that if I am going to be active by the time the pups are up and about."

"You never were a morning person, Sirius."

They sat in silence for a while before Sirius ventured, "You are usually reading the morning paper by now Moony, what's wrong?"

"Harry's magic has stabilized."

Sirius, having just taken a sip of his coffee, spat it out in a spray. He spluttered for a few moments and then said, "Most kids who stabilize early only do so at or around their eighth birthday! He's just turned six! I know that James told me that he stabilized a little before he turned ten, which is the average isn't it?"

"I know... and yes, it is Padfoot. Your retention is getting better in your old age."

"I am not old! Any ways, I guess this is the end of our spending most of the year in New York is coming to an end."

"Just be glad that the Masters that Lily and James set up for Harry's teaching are all renowned as teachers, and that they picked the ones who either owed them personal favors, come from families that owed House Potter large favors or even life debts. I wonder how the cubs will feel about moving to Germany..."

"Why is Germany first again?"

"The wandcrafters that House Potter has contracted for all of their custom wands since the fifteen hundreds reside in Munich. James was quite specific that Harry's first wand was crafted. Lily said push for him to have two."

"What is the difference between Ollivander, who is a famed wandmaker, and this family of wandcrafters?"

"Padfoot, how many times have James, Lily, and I explained this to you?"

Sirius looked properly shamefaced as he replied, "This will be the fifth time I think."

"Well I was obviously wrong about you ability to retain information. Now pay attention mutt..."

"I'm not a mutt, I'm a Grim!"

"The Kennel Club starts issuing pedigrees for Grims, I'll stop calling you mutt. Now as I was saying, the difference between wandmakers and crafters is that a wandmaker uses a narrow selection of woods and cores in order to get the best 'fit' possible for the largest number of people possible. A wandcrafter makes each wand individually for each witch and wizard, and the wand will always respond to its owner in the best manner possible."

Sirius dropped his forehead to the table making a decent sounding thump. "And as you explained it..."

"You remembered it. Honestly Sirius, what am I going to do with you?"

He grinned cheekily and turned into his Grim form. Remus sighed ruefully, and scratched his friend behind the ears when the dog padded over to him.

"Well we can't put you out to stud since that bastard Rodolphus cast that curse that sterilized you in seventh year..."

Padfoot whimpered at the mention of that event.

"Hey, if you ever find a woman who would put up with you who wants children, you could always adopt."

The Grim growled at his friend.

"Hey don't blame me that you are so afraid that you'll always be left alone when she, no matter which relationship it is at the time, finds out you can't father children!"

* * *

A few months short of three years later, Harry lay beneath a tree, staring up into the pink blossoms above him. His parents, before they had passed, had come up with an... interesting variation on how their son was going to be taught magic. Instead of waiting for the standard age of eleven and then sending him off to Hogwarts, they had instead planned that he would study under various men and women who held Masteries in their respective subject. The fact that few of these men and women resided in the same country was little matter.

Though learning how to land properly when coming out of an international Floo trip had taken him forever.

He would spend a month in Berlin learning Charms, then would move on to Transfiguration in France. He studied, chiefly, under a Herbology Mistress who kept the most vast greenhouses in the world in Spain, though there were several others who he sometimes had lessons with. Strangely enough rather than studying Ancient Runes (which he had originally studied under a monk in Tibet) in Cairo as one would expect, that was where he learned under a pair of the premier Potions Masters of the world. A smile lit his face as he thought of the twins, he never had a lesson with them where he failed to break into laughter. He studied Care of Magical Creatures at two alternating reserves, one was particularly vast and located in the Australian Outback, that kept a massive assortment of magical creatures. The other was the world's largest dragon reserve in Romania. Arithmancy was learned under a hippie in San Francisco. And Defense, as it was simply called in all other parts of the world besides England, was learned under a rather ancient man in Kyoto (which is where he was currently). Moony took it upon himself to teach him History of Magic and Astronomy during the four months of the year that they spent at 'home' in Staten Island, though Remus included a lot of mundane advancements in the later, while still explaining why it was important, magically speaking.

They lived as much in the non-magical world as they could so 'Muggle' Studies was a waste of time and Lily had left express instructions that if Harry showed any interest in Divination, he was to be pranked into giving up the idea.

They would spend two months abroad before returning home for one month. While they were in Staten Island, they usually visited by their 'Aunt' Lara in the winter, who had been their mother's favorite cousin, and the only surviving member of that branch of their family that their mother wanted them to have contact with. Lara, for her part, enjoyed the peace of spending time with Lily's children, and usually had presents that left Harry and Ginny in awe. In the summer they would be visited by their Aunt Rolanda. Though technically their great-aunt, she was the only other person of Potter blood apart from the siblings. She was the sister of Charlus Potter, their grandfather, and she had married Edward Hooch, who had died in the Great War. She always took them to see Quidditch games, what few she could find in the States that were dominated by Quodpot, and promised them flying lessons when they were older.

When abroad, he still continued to teach them him and his sister the more mundane subjects. Math, writing composition, reading comprehension, sciences, and the like. The only thing that they didn't study were languages for the sheer reason that they 'cheated'. There was a service that was provided, for an exorbitant cost, around the world that used a spell to transfer the ability to speak a language from the caster to the target. The level of fluency learned was that of the casters, and so they only bought from native speakers or those that spoke with complete fluency. And as the ICW kept a register and issued licenses to people providing this service, the risk was extremely low. Remus, Sirius, and Ginny had stopped at the languages that were needed for their globe trotting, while the plan for Harry was for him to learn as many languages as he desired. He had yet to decide where he really wanted to stop.

He was also taught that the way he was learning was far different from how young witches and wizards were taught. Whatever he was taught was polished to near perfection. They had taught him silent and point casting, and had not moved beyond the first year material in wanded subjects until he could demonstrate that he was capable of casting most of the spellwork quickly, at random, consistently, silently, and with a minimum of wand waving. Then they pushed him to see just what he was capable without a wand. It had gotten easier as he had moved through the 'years' moving more quickly through the next than the one that had come before. Ginny had been a little upset that Harry was learning magic before her, but as her core had yet to stabilize, she was kept out of the wanded subjects, though most of the teachers in the others had let her take part in the lessons, even though she was not pushed anywhere near as hard as her brother.

He was somewhere in the mid-second year in his wanded magics and mid-fifth in all the non-wanded save one.

His teacher in runes had called his advancement in that subject terrifying. It had taken a year and a half to reach a level that Runes Master Chiuc had called 'acceptable for passing any reasonable first stage testing'. He had then taken his International O-Levels, the equivalent of the British OWLs, and proceeded to be both the youngest to ever pass the test and gain the highest score on record. His instruction in that area of study had then shifted teachers.

It seemed that the goblin clan of Gringotts London had owed the House of Potter a massive favor. They had hired out, for a greatly reduced price, both their top Curse Breaker and Enchanter. The lessons had taken place in London branch, and for the months that he learned to both build and destroy wards and how to imbue magic into objects, Harry and one of his guardians, but only them, were given quarters above ground in the bank. They had also continued teaching what they said he would need to know for his NEWTs. While he may not have been able to get the full practice out what he was being taught due to his limited knowledge in other subjects, what he was able to demonstrate had both of his teachers scared for their jobs if the boy ever decided to pursue a job in their chosen fields. And he was now gearing up to take his International N-Levels while he also was revising for his O-Levels in the other non-wanded subjects, all of which he would be taking in mid-June. If things proceeded apace, he would be taking the rest of his O-Levels a year and a half later.

After he passed Potions, he would no long be studying under the twin Potions Masters in Cairo, but one of the legends of the subject. And after Defense, Master Shiro would begin teaching him a weapon, while Aunt Lara had decided that was when he would be given an exercise regimen and would start to be 'formally' taught to make use of his natural agility.

He was broken out of his doze when he heard bare feet pad softly through the grass, and saw his sister take a seat beside him. Ginny smiled softly at him as she spoke in flawless Japanese, "You don't usually stare at the cherry blossoms for so long..."

"Tired. Revising for my O-Levels is exhausting."

"And your N-Levels for Runes?"

"Are a non-issue. Any particular reason why you felt the need to come over just as I was starting to doze off? I could really do with a nap..."

She gazed at him sharply for a few moments, inspecting her brother for any obvious defects before saying, "You do look tired, are you sleeping well?"

"Most days, though I'm not sleeping as deeply as I usually do..."

"Then get Uncle Remus to brew you up a sleeping potion, or whip one up yourself. It'll probably help if you get one night of deep sleep a week, and it'll keep you from depending on them."

He rubbed at the faded scar on his forehead and sighed, "I'll talk to Moony about it later."

He remember when the scar had been much clearer, how it had caused a dull ache in his head that would never go away. Moony and Padfoot had gone to extremes to find out what was wrong with the curse scar, and they had finally found their answer in a Navaho shaman who was reputed to be the foremost expert of soul and spirit magics in the world. It had been a few weeks before his sixth birthday when the shaman had discovered a large amount of foreign magic in the scar and flesh surrounding it, and even more startling was the fragment of a soul that was anchored to the magic. What had really thrown the old Native American for a loop was upon doing a second examination of the scar a few days later to confirm his results, the soul fragment had perceptibly lessened in size.

The shaman had told them that fighting off both the foreign magical energy and the alien soul was taking a large chunk of Harry's developing magic, and that the simplest way of solving the problem would be to remove the magic and see how that effected the fragment. The magic sustaining the fragment had been extremely easy to purge from Harry's system, and without the energy to support it, the soul fragment had been destroyed in short order.

Harry had held the theory that because his magic had spent so much time fighting off a foreign influence that when it was no longer there, it was able to find an equilibrium with ease and so stabilize at an age that was a statistical anomaly.

As much as he loved the cherry blossoms, he disliked the fact that Sirius and Remus kept him away from anything even remotely resembling a real broom. They mentioned something about his mother threatening their bits if they even allowed either of her children on anything other than a toy broom before the age of ten.

He closed his eyes and tried to take a nap.

* * *

It was early-June of 1991, Harry's current month with his Potions teacher was winding down, and he sat at a kitchen table, writing out an essay on a length of parchment using a quill. Nicolas Flamel was a dire taskmaster, and if it was good enough when he had been a student, it was good enough for any student of his. All his other teachers saw how much easier biros and actual paper were... He muttered a few choice curses in Irish, only to be whacked upside the head with a spoon. In addition to teaching Harry NEWTs level potions he had also begun teaching Harry the 'ancient art of Alchemy'.

Harry had learned something interesting about the family history that he had gotten around to reading about yet in what little he had read in the Potter family records. Apparently the Flamels had used to have children every fifty years or so. The problem was that these children, though they always lived to be adults, had always met their ends before they could have a family of their own. The only exception to this had been their first born, a daughter. She had come into their lives before Nicolas had stumbled onto the process to make the Philosopher's Stone, and was grown, married, and had a family of her own when her parents had achieved immortality. Her married name had been Potter, or what it had passed as in the English of the time.

So when he wasn't being taught, they had insisted that he call them Grandmother and Grandfather. At least when Nicolas wasn't teaching, and then he was to be referred to as Master.

Ginny had finally started her her lessons in the wanded subjects, having magically stabilized at about nine and a half. Though she didn't learn under the same Masters that Harry did, Remus and Sirius hired very capable teachers for her, and she was proceeding along a more traditional path than her brother.

She really like to rub his nose in the fact that she wasn't having as many issues in her coursework as he had been through. Harry believed his sister needed to be introduced to the joys of being stuck to the ceiling for twelve hours.

Nicolas was reading some post he had received that morning, while Perenelle was reading a Science Fiction novel, and offhandedly said, "Apparently Albus believes that Voldemort is still alive and is going to make an attempt on the Stone."

The nib of the quill Harry was using snapped, ruining the section of work he had been doing.

"Of all the things I thought that I was going to hear today, that was not among the list, Grandfather."

"Yes, well, he goes on to say that he wants to move it from its high security Gringotts vault to protections of his own devising at Hogwarts."

Perenelle put her own two cents in, "Is he mad? Putting a highly sought after magical artifact if a school full of children when the most dangerous Dark Lord since the one that kicked off a world war is after it is not a sound plan."

"Yes, well even if I say no, he'll probably just make it seem like I entrusted him with the Stone and then hide it in the school anyway. The real problem is what to do about protecting the stone if it's security is compromised."

Harry commented, "It depends on whether you two still want to keep the stone as far from you as possible for as much time as is feasible?"

"And if we were willing to hide it here, what would you suggest young man?"

"Short of placing a Fidelius on the entire property?

Perenelle quirked one elegant eyebrow and asked, "Why would you of all people trust the Fidelius Charm, Harry?"

"Because, in my own opinion, if you trust someone enough to ask them to be your Secret Keeper they should trust you enough to offer up some kind of binding oath not to reveal the secret without your consent."

The older couple were silent for a few minutes as Harry turned his attention to the ruined piece of parchment and began copying what he had already written onto a new sheet.

"And if we were not willing to have it here?"

Harry replied without looking up from his work, "Find some property you own in the middle of nowhere, place the Stone in a box, bury the sucker, the pop a Fidelius about a yard in diameter over it. Make sure the Secret Keeper is willing to under go a memory wipe spell to remove the location from his or her mind, and you've got an impenetrable Secret because it is not Kept in the mind but rather the soul."

They both stared at the young man in silence for the next fifteen minutes as he worked on his paper. A ten year old had just closed the largest hole in one of the most powerful protective Light magics in existence in two separate ways in less than five minutes.

Smiling as he finished his essay and Harry asked, "I've done my homework, now can I _please_ go flying?"

* * *

Harry had made sure to be out of Britain during July and August of 1991, and so had managed to avoid whatever tracking charm laden letter

* * *

During mid-May of the next year, and Harry once more sat at the Flamel kitchen table. It was morning and he was diligently working his way through a bowl of oatmeal that he had charmed to repel his hair. Harry, In an attempt to make his hair, which he had found out a few weeks after meeting his grandparents was literally cursed, be more controllable, had grown his hair out. He had been doing it since he was six years old. Now, a few months shy of the age of twelve, he had a thick mane of jet back hair that stopped just past his shoulders, and the occasional lock of unruly hair stuck out from it at an odd angle.

They had told him that the hair came from Nicolas, who had the ill fortune to irritate a gypsy who had then cursed him and his male descendants to have uncontrollable hair.

There was a knock at the door that lead to the back garden, and Nicolas and Perenelle shared a startled look that Harry missed, focused as he was on his food. And they both drew their wands, placing them on the table, before Perenelle called out, "Enter!"

A tall man, in flowing plum colored robes, with long silver hair and accompanying beard, and twinkling blue eyes. "Master Flamel, Lady Flamel, I am in need of your help..."

Nicolas sighed and said chidingly, "Albus, you know that we don't become involved in the events of the world at large."

"I know, Nicolas, but I need your advice. Someone has opened Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, and the monster that was contained with has been rampaging through the school. Four muggleborn students, a cat, and a ghost have been petrified, and now the Board of Governors have removed me as Headmaster, so I cannot do anything about it? I am at my ropes end at how to protect the children..."

Harry slurred out a bit sleepily, although quite audibly, "The basilisk should know better than to harm students. Salazar always wrote that Isis was such a good girl. No one besides Slytherin's line should even be able to remotely influence her, and she would know better than to listen to orders given to her by Aldric's descendants, who would be the only ones inclined to use her in such a way..."

Albus Dumbledore simply stared at the preteen who hadn't really registered to his senses. He had a long unruly mop of jet black hair. The boy had not even looked up from his breakfast when he had given a statement about Slytherin's monster, '_A basilisk, this is worse than I thought!_', and now Dumbledore was trying to figure out to manipulate more information out of the young man when he spoke again, "Grandfather, I'll need to head to Gringotts to pick up a few things from the Slytherin ancestral vault before I head to Hogwarts to try and fix the Supreme Warlock's mess. With your permission?"

Perenelle fixed the boy who still had his gaze locked on his oatmeal a glare and asked, "You are not planning on fighting a thousand year old serpent are you?"

"Not if I can't help it. Though it is quite possible that she has gone around the twist and I may have to put her out of her misery."

"And how is that different?"

"Its quite simple, in a fight I run the chance of getting bitten and mutilated the vastly valuable carcass of the ancient basilisk and putting Isis out of her misery involves me Transfiguring a rock into a rooster and Compelling it to crow."

"Then do just that deary, just eat your breakfast first. When do you think you'll be back?"

"Not a bloody clue, I also want to find out who the hell is doing this since the only one who could is without a body at the moment."

Dumbledore stared in shock at this young man, who blandly spoke of killing an ancient basilisk with two pieces of magic that could be done by any adult witch or wizard who had passed their Charms and Transfiguration NEWTs. But when he had looked up and Albus had seen the boy's green eyes behind a pair of glasses, he had nearly fainted. After Harry's Hogwarts letter had been failed to be delivered he had gone to Privet Drive to check on the boy. Harry left the kitchen, presumably to get ready to go out.

The wards he had placed up to alert him of the health, well being, and location of The Boy-Who-Lived had never so much as hiccuped, so he had always assumed the two Marauders had never found the boy, even if they had apparently tracked down Ginevra in short order. Apparently Harry had been taken from the Dursleys before Sirius had even been released from prison! He had had no clue where the savior of the British Wizarding World had gone, and when he had failed to show up for his first year of Hogwarts, all of his carefully laid plans had fallen apart.

Not to mention the earful he had gotten from Minerva... Though she was much gladdened when he told her that he assumed Harry was with Remus and Sirius.

Nicolas turned to Dumbledore and spoke in a firm tone, "We are going to be removing the access list of our wards. The only reason we haven't yet is because, quite frankly, we forgot. After what you tried to pull involving two of our last descendants back after All Hallows Eve of '81, we wouldn't trust you with a potato. Now get out of our home, and be glad that our grandson is such a good person."

* * *

Since Harry had been introduced to some of the unbelievable and amazing things that were apparently in his family history, he had dived into familiarizing himself with the tales of his ancestors. They could trace their line, in name unbroken (though heavily altered given shifts in language) back to when a Potter had been Myrddin's (or as he was more commonly known Merlin) last, and greatest, apprentice. He had left everything to that young man after he had passed away following the fall of Camelot. Of course, Merlin had used magic like no one before and since, and it was the extremely rare Potter that was even capable of using even the smallest part of the shear wealth of knowledge he had left behind.

He had found the rune language that the great wizard had almost exclusively used. And if what the man had written in the description of it was true, it was the only completely unabridged source of Atlantean runes known to man. He had become enchanted with it, and had taken it up in a fervor, abandoning the use of all other rune languages, though he still studied them.

And so he killed time physically carving small arrays onto discs of stone, metal, and wood, waiting for whoever was responsible to show their face.

There was also the fact that Slytherin's only other child, his beloved daughter, had married into the Potter family shortly after her insane bigot of a brother had been cast out of the family. It had been him and his descendants who had given both Parseltongues and Slytherins in general their Dark reputation over the years.

As he heard the grinding of the stairs shifting into place, he disillusioned all of the furniture he had transfigured and hid his bags before throwing his family's invisibility cloak over himself. He watched as the massive doors that separated the entrance of the Chamber from its largest portion open, revealing a blond waif of a girl in Ravenclaw robes whose eyes were glowing a malevolent red. She took three steps into the massive hall only to receive a stunner to the chest and be levitated before she struck the floor.

A small leather bound book fell out of her robes and struck the ground. Harry moved the girl over to the cot he had set up for his stay in the chamber. He drew one of his wands and started casting various detection and revealing spells on the book. What he got back from them put a frown on his face as he moved over, doing his best to sense the magics that were in the book and a failing terribly. His ability to feel magics from a distance was absolutely shite.

He tapped a section of his glasses, scrutinizing the the book with the various enhanced vision modes built into them. Finally deciding he wouldn't lose a hand if he picked it up, he grabbed the book, shivering with disgust at the feel of the magics against his skin and moving toward the table he had been sitting at.

His capability at sensing magic through skin contact, however, had always been above par.

And he recognized where this magic had come from. Even though it had been a little over half a decade since his scar had been purged, he knew that Voldemort had made this book. Flipping it open, Harry grabbed a quill and ink and wrote,_ 'Testing, one, two, three, testing.'_ The words sank into the paper moments after he had finished writing, only for the ink to reappear in a different hand.

_'Hello, who might I have the pleasure of speaking with?'_

_'I'd greet you politely, Voldemort, but quite frankly I have questions I want answered before I destroy this book, and I am not going to waste the ink or time it would take to do so on you.'_

_'I have no clue who this Voldemort fellow you are speaking of is. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.'_

_'You may not see it, but I am rolling my eyes now. I have ways of making you talk. Describe the magics that created you.'_

_'All I am are memories stored in a book, charmed to act like my sixteen year old self.'_

_'And I am the tooth fairy. I'll ask one more time before I start drawing rune arrays to enforce my will and start testing the theory I have that my magic is either hostile or outright toxic to yours. What are the magics that created you?'_

_'Tell me you name, and maybe I'll tell you.'_

_'Go to hell, Tom.'_

Pulling out a separate bottle of ink that he used when writing out runes instead of carving him, one of the ingredients of it being his own blood, Harry turned the book so that the pages would turn vertically and started writing out a rune array after rune array, all while pumping so much energy into the book that his magical aura flared into the visible spectrum. The occasional comment would pop up from Voldemort, but Harry merely waited for the words to fade away before continuing his work.

_'What are you doing to me? Stop that! Cease what you are doing! I **command** you to stop!'_

After half an hour, Harry slumped back in his chair, tired at his exertions. Picking up the quill and using the normal black ink, Harry wrote, _'Now, describe the magics that made you.'_

'I am a Horcrux.'

_'What is a Horcrux?'_

'A Horcrux is a container for a fragment of a person's soul that has been torn from the rest. It requires that one murder another human in cold blood. It is a means by which to become immortal.'

_'How would one destroy a Horcrux, if you don't know theorize.'_

'The spells involved in the creation of a Horcrux harden it to most damage, I can only assume that things that would cause massive damage, such as basilisk venom and Fiendfyre would destroy one.'

_'I am going to assume that one can make more than on Horcrux, though I shudder at the thought of mauling one's soul so. Is this your first Horcrux or a later one, if so what are your prior ones, and were you even planning on making more than one, if so how many?'_

'I have made one Horcrux prior to this diary, and it was a ring that is a Gaunt family heirloom of our ancestor Salazar Slytherin. I was indeed planning on making multiple Horcruxes, six in total so that I may have a seven part soul.'

_'Where did you hide the ring, what are the protections surrounding it, and what is the easiest way to bypass those protections?'_

Harry let loose a feral grin at the book and said out loud, "This is what you get when an enchanted object attempts to tangle with the youngest Runes Master in over a thousand years."

* * *

Harry sat next to the girl, getting reading to counter the stunner he had cast on her. On the table, the diary lay cleaved in two, with a sock laying beside it. He had taken Salazar Slytherin's goblin forged battle axe, which he had infused with basilisk venom to strengthen it, and simply chopped the Dark object in half. He had backed up the rest of the belongings he had brought with him, and now all he had to do was wake the poor girl and see how badly Voldemort had hurt her.

He placed a hand on the girl's forehead and cast the counter wandlessly.

Her eyes shot open, and she started glancing about in a fear that was just short of terror, though she didn't really see him.

Harry spoke, calmly and softly, "Easy now. Tom Riddle is not going to be able to hurt you anymore. He has been dealt with."

Her eyes focused on his face for the first time, before she bolted out and gripped him in a death hug around the waist, crying and spilling out how she had let Tom do all those horrible things through her.

As he gently rubbed her back and said soothing words that she wasn't to blame, he waited to see if she would calm down. Her steam of words eventually slowed and then stopped, though she still shed a few tears.

"Better?"

She nodded.

"Now what you need to understand is that old, and far wiser people than you have been taken in by the honeyed words that roll off of Voldemort's forked tongue."

She stared up at him in shock.

"I should know the feeling of the bastard's magic, I had it in my scar until I was about six years old," he stated as he brushed aside his hair and tapped the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

She simply stared at the scar that was legendary in the British Wizarding World and stammered out, "You... You're..."

"Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you...?"

"Luna Lovegood."

* * *

He managed to coax the story of her first year at Hogwarts, among other things, out of her. She had lived alone with her father since her mother had passed. She had had few friends growing up, so her father had made up a bunch of 'rare magical creatures' and then used those as an excuse to go on camping trips all around the world during the summer.

The Lovegoods were apparently well enough off that her father felt secure enough to pursue his interest in providing the British Wizarding World with a tabloid. She told how her father had found one from the non-magical world while he was so amused and mesmerized by it that he felt that it was now his purpose to bring that to the people of magical England.

What few friends she had were the Weasley brothers, who had 'adopted' her as an honorary little sister following her mother's death. They had not been able to keep as close an eye at they wanted to due to her being sorted into a different house than them, but they had tried to talk to her at varying points in the year, and showed that they were concerned that she had become so quiet over the year.

And he had brought her around to talking about her home life, which brightened her eyes whenever she talked about, when her tale about what Voldemort had done to her had seemed a bit too much for her to deal with.

She had continued to act in the same manner she had at home around her father, commenting about Nargles, Snorkacks, and all other manner of imaginary magical creature. The problem was that in she a house where such strangeness was frowned upon. Though they had not started to pick on her due to the fact that she had withdrawn more and more as the year had gone on, but some of the things she mentioned showed that her housemates were not pleased with her differences.

As she finished up her story, Harry helped her to her feet, and led her out of the Chamber, a duffel bag held in one hand that had the metallic haft of an axe sticking out of it, his other arm around her shoulders, leading her out of the gloomy Chamber.

* * *

Harry walked out of the Deputy Headmistress's office, waiting for Professor Flitwick to exit the office, he had recommended to Oddment Lovegood, Luna's father, that he should take Luna to see a Mind Healer because she had basically been possessed by a right bastard of a spirit. And on their way to the office, he had told her how to be able to contact him if she wanted to write a letter to him. He had also given McGonagall greetings that he was sure his guardians would probably liked to pass on, though he had commented that if they had come directly from Sirius and Moony they would have probably been far less appropriate. He had then proceeded to tell the a much abridged

He had also mentioned to Filius that he needed to have a word with the quarter-goblin. And so when he came out of the office having seen that his student was safe with her father.

"You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Professor Flitwick, and call me Harry, I'm not one of your students. I thought I should tell you something. If Luna is back to her normal self by the time next year comes around, you might want to keep an eye out for bullying directed at her. Ravenclaws have a history of turning against those who do not conform."

The small man nodded sadly, "I will keep an eye on her Harry, if I may ask though, why I are so concerned?"

"I saved her life from a complete and total monster that could once call itself human. I am not going to allow her housemates destroy her."

"That is quite noble of you Harry."

A voice behind the Potter heir said, "I must agree with Filius, Harry."

Without turning around, Harry replied, as though he had already known that Dumbledore was than, in a rather cold tone, "I may have given Professor Flitwick permission to be familiar with me, but I did not extend the same to you, Headmaster, and likely never will."

Harry could practically feel the shocked silence of the old man behind him as the Charms Master of Hogwarts asked, "Was that really necessary, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, yes, it was. He sealed the Ministry copy of my parents wills before their bodies were even cold, he allowed Sirius to go to Azkaban without a trial, he placed my sister with a family that was no where on the list of those that were to have custody of her, he placed me with people who my parents expressly stated that me or my sister were to never go to, and he had made no less than two dozen attempts to gain access to my family's vaults in the three months before Remus took me back."

That struck Filius silent, who then glared rather nicely at the Headmaster.

Hearing the sound of footsteps making their way down the corridor, Harry looked around to see Lucius Malfoy being heeled by his house elf, and muttered, "Bad Faith incoming."

A sneering, pretentious voice said, "I see you have found fit to return to the castle after the Board sacked you, Albus."

Interrupting what would probably be an extremely boring conversation, Harry said, "Lord Black is most displeased with your recent behavior, Lord Malfoy. Blackmailing and threatening the Board into sacking a sitting Headmaster? Placing dangerous Dark artifacts that once belonged to Dark Lords in the hands of school children? Bad form, Lord Malfoy, bad form. In the past week and a half the Houses of Black and Potter have bought up all of your outstanding debts, and you shall be hearing from our solicitors about those soon, along with the invalidation of your marriage contract to Narcissa Black due to your involvement with a Dark Lord who caused the deaths of two sons of the House of Black and the assault and attempted murder of a third."

Harry pulled a sock that had something stuffed in his pocket and threw it at the Lord of the House of Malfoy, and said, "You might as well have that back. I pray for the day when you explain to your Master how you let that get destroyed."

As a look of apoplectic rage crossed the blond man's face, and his hand twitched toward his wand, "Try while in the presence of the man who killed Grindelwald, a world dueling champion, and myself, I dare you. You won't live long enough for Voldemort to torture you to death."

He said nothing and simply sneered at them, tossing book-baring sock at the house elf before striding off. The house elf stared down at what was in his hands and said, "Master has given Dobby clothes! Dobby is free!"

Malfoy, a look of fury on his puce colored face (Harry idly wondered how someone so pale could turn that color), turned back toward Harry, who looked appropriately smug, and yelled, "You cost me my servant boy!"

"Yes, yes, I did Lucy. And Moony and Padfoot are going to pauperize you. Deal with it."

Lucius Malfoy paled with startling speed, and spun on his heel, fleeing from the scene of his defeat at the hands of a twelve year old.

As soon as the man was out of sight and hearing range, Harry started laughing so hard that he fell on his arse. As soon as he had finished laughing himself silly, he muttered under his breath, "I haven't had that much fun since I played a game of chicken with a professional seeker and won!"

Both of the adults stared at the sudden change in Harry, as he finished calming himself down and picked himself back up. As Harry's face once more became serious, he said, "I think that is all gentlemen, I need to have a conversation with Dobby, and then get back to the Flamel residence. I am not sure how pleased they are going to be about me taking a fortnight out of my studies..."

Touching the still shocked elf on the shoulder, Harry beckoned the little fellow to follow him.

As soon as they were alone, Harry raised some privacy wards and said, "Thank you for the warning that you gave me this summer, Dobby, I am sorry I ended up at Hogwarts anyway, but I felt that I had to deal with the issue that you had so gently tried to steer me away from."

"Harry Potter is the bestest and most noblest wizard in the world! Dobby is not worthy to..."

"It is all thanks to you that I was able to figure out who it was that was behind the opening of the Chamber, and I don't mean Riddle. By you warning me about Hogwarts being a dangerous place to be this year, and by never having been told that you were not to tell anyone who you served, I was able to figure it out. Free you from an abusive family is the least I could do."

The little elf started crying tears of joy while he wrung his ears as he repeated, "Thank you, Harry Potter, thank you!"

When the excitable little fellow had once more calmed down, Harry knelt down to his level and said, "I know you want to be able to enjoy your new found freedom, so how about I hire you as a free elf? What do you think would be fair wages and days off?"

Dobby's eyes widened to proportions that threatened to make Harry start laughing as he made a sound that Harry had only heard come from Japanese fangirls before (he still shuddered whenever he hear 'Squee!'), and then said, "Dobby will be accepting no more than one galleon and a day off a month."

"I'm sorry but I am going to have to give you three galleons a month and a day off every other week."

Dobby looked torn between wanting to accept working for 'the Great Harry Potter sir' and receiving what he felt was far too much compensation, before he managed to squeak out a, "Yes!"

* * *

It was Halloween, 1994, at about three in the afternoon, and Harry was enjoying an pleasant walk through the neighborhood that they lived in in Staten Island, his favorite gray cloak wrapped around him. All of his teachers had by this point felt they had taught him all they could while confined to International N-Level work. And so he had taken the about a year off to revise everything he knew and prepare for the tests that he had promised himself that he would take in June.

He was just about to turn around and begin heading home where he felt his entire body pulled eastward. Cursing under his breath, Harry likened it to portkey travel (his most despised form of magical transit) except the pull was not confined to behind his naval. He nearly stumbled as he felt it again, this time swearing quite audibly in Irish. Drawing his wands, he had the vague feeling that the third time was going to be the charm, and he had no clue where he was going to end up.

Soon he was being pulled through a hazing vortex of fume and flame, again a strange parallel to a portkey. Bracing himself as he would for a landing with a portkey, he was slammed down on his feet, but managed to remain upright. He spun in a quick circle, taking in his surroundings and looking for any threats. He saw black robes with four different colored trims, pale blue robes made of silk, and thick woolen robes the color of blood. He was in a massive hall that had five tables, four populated by kids ages eleven to eighteen, and the last filled with adults, while the ceiling reflected the night sky that was apparently. And he saw the fabled Goblet of Fire.

He only had one thing to say.

"Bloody hell!"

* * *

**A/N2: And that's were the prologue ends, with Harry about to be forced to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I'd like to thank you for reading my offerings, and to remind you to vote for your favorite on poll located at my author page.**


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